The Ghost that Haunted Me
by ecto1B
Summary: This story is currently being revamped. Please check my page for the brand new version. Thanks!
1. Insane

**Note: This story is currently being REVAMPED into a better, more likable format. I will never again be updating this particular story, and when the revamp is done, this story WILL be taken off of Fanfiction. Please check my profile for the new story. Trust me, you won't regret it. **

**Thank you! **

**- ecto1B**

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The Ghost That Haunted Me

A story by ecto1B

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**Chapter One**

**~ Insane**

_In the year 1843, a supposed schizophrenic by the name of Daniel M'Naghten was convinced that one of England's political parties, the Tories, was urging him to eliminate the British Prime Minister. In his frenzied assassination attempt, he mistakenly shot and killed the Prime Minister's secretary, Edward Drummond._

_Two months later, M'Naghten was declared not guilty for reasons of insanity._

_In 1981, John Hinckley, a man intent on impressing a celebrity by means of fame, fired six bullets at newly elected U.S. President Ronald Regan. Wounding the president along with three others, Hinckley was charged with 13 offenses at his trial in 1982. At that same trial, the defense's psychiatric documents reasoned that Hinckley was legally insane, even while the prosecution had previously confirmed the man otherwise._

_He was found not guilty because of this evidence._

_What confirms insanity? How can these people—people who have strived to take the lives of others—evade penalty? What qualifications make these people "legally insane," allowing them to bypass the assumed customary punishments? In most countries, legal insanity is defined as a condition where the convict's mental capacity was at an all-time low during the crime, or even while the convict was outlining their plan. A mental defect or disease is usually the cause. Defenders of the accused strive to prove their client's innocence using this knowledge in order to reach the verdict of not guilty. In America, a test called the Model Penal Code (MPC) is used to isolate key features of the crime, evaluating if the accused is, in fact, legally insane. The test establishes if the crime was committed "purposely, knowingly, recklessly, or negligently," details that would prove them to be sane._

_Why is this important to you? When dealing with certain characters, an author must be able to provide the necessary information in order to give their readers a bit of background knowledge. You've got to be prepared if you'll be reading about a special case. In this instance, the character has convinced himself that he is insane, drawn far beyond rational thought, plagued with reoccurring nightmares and horrifying hallucinations, driven to the brink of death innumerable times and returning with his soul still wildly in disarray. But much unlike M'Naghten and Hinckley, this character's alleged madness did not spawn from schizophrenia or obsession, per say. Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley was not struck with psychologically harmful deficiencies at birth, or even considered to be mentally unstable until later in life. It was the changing around him that caused it, the twists and turns that tormented his very being and battered the torn remains of his soul. And as Simon tried to stand after being beaten alive, another whirlwind circumstance pounded him back to the ground. He was never given the opportunity to recover, and that is why he "went mad."_

_Simon always wanted a cure. He wanted the ability to remedy this unfortunate life of his without choosing the swiftest course of action: suicide. Sure, after the murder of his family, Simon placed the barrel of a handgun in his mouth and attempted to pull the trigger, but that wasn't good enough for him. Killing himself would only give his enemy, a nefarious drug lord named Roba, reason to gloat, to rejoice, to hold his head higher. Simon was smarter than that. He knew it was a bad idea to take his own life._

_Still, he wanted a cure. A cure for his insanity. He wanted to be able to stroll down city streets without hallucinating, or even to have a good night's rest, free of terrors. He didn't want to be put in an asylum, or anything close to it. He wanted a normal life. He envied his late brother, who had broken free from drug addictions to wed his high school sweetheart. Why couldn't he do the same? Get married, start a family, own a little house in suburbia and grow old while surrounded by loved ones. Was it so hard?_

_For Simon, it was more than hard. He couldn't exactly go roaming about the streets of London after his face showed up in every local newspaper, being held responsible for the murders of his mother, brother, sister-in-law, five-year-old nephew, and therapist. The military was his only choice. He could always plead insanity, but Simon knew of the M'Naghten and Hinckley cases, and had no desire to become more of a public eyesore, or even be forced within the confining walls of a mental institution. In the military, he could be lost to all, never staying in one place, exploring the vast terrains of the world… this eye-opening realization came to him as he trudged away from an elegant summer home within the jungles of the Chiapas in Mexico—the home only minutes before had belonged to Roba, before Simon had snuck in and massacred every soul inside. A helicopter had greeted him as he left, landing gracefully in a small clearing nearby. Simon soon discovered that knowledge had already got out of his deeds, which would have troubled him if he hadn't known the information had reached a certain pair of ears; General Hershel von Shepherd, commander of the most elite group of combatants on the planet, had heard of him, had heard of Simon's thirst for redemption. He asked that Simon join Task Force 141, and Simon, after mulling it over, accepted the offer._

_Simon changed when he joined the Task Force. No longer did he don war paint resembling that of a skull, or even walk about in broad daylight with his face exposed. Instead, Simon slipped a pair of red-tinted sunglasses over his blue eyes and wore a black balaclava that carried the design of a skull on the front. He still talked in his familiar tone, a dry humored British accent carved about every word, but now he spoke nothing of the past. Never again would Simon return to that era. Roba was dead, his family was gone, and he was a member of Task Force 141._

_And with that, Simon Riley became and remained a ghost... until her arrival_


	2. Polarity

**The Ghost That Haunted Me**

A story by ecto1B

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**Chapter Two**

**~ Polarity**

POV - _Mckinley Front_

I find it incredibly fascinating that I can like and dislike things that are—if not practically the same—extremely similar. Usually what you hate is a polar opposite from what you find appealing, but I've come to notice over the years that it isn't always the case.

For example, I love when it rains. I love the smell of it, the sound of it, that ceaseless, rhythmic pounding against the roof that sends me drifting off into a perfect sleep. I especially love sitting beneath the outcrop of my back porch, watching the rain create tiny, broadening circles on the surface of our pool. Sometimes I even bring a book outside and let the story and the rain's peaceful rhythm pull me from reality.

But I hate swimming. I hate large bodies of water. I can wade in it, sure, but the deeper it gets, the faster my heart beats, and the more desperate I get to scurry back to dry land. And don't even get me started on going underwater. My biggest fear is drowning; I almost did so while at my uncle's lake house one year. Even after my mom had a pool installed in our backyard and signed me up for a swim class the summer after the incident, I refused to ever enjoy the water again.

See what I mean? Rain. Swimming. Two things closely linked by that wondrous thing called H2O, and yet, I despise one, and adore the other.

Another example: I love comedians. I love the classic acts, like Mr. Warmth himself, Don Rickles. I die laughing while listening to a few of the more modern stand-ups, like Dane Cook and Jeff Dunham. Heck, Larry the Cable Guy and his simple, honest jokes leave my stomach tingling and my lungs barely able to support me and my wheezing for air.

Yet, I hate pranksters. God_ forbid_ I come across one in my life. Those immature, moronic assholes think it's funny to watch something explode in a person's face, or to see fellow students scrunch up their noses and gag at the repulsive scent of a stink bomb. I can't tell you how many of those jackasses I've met. How are their pranks entertaining? How are they productive, in any way? I may sound like I'm coming off pretty rough, but trust me. If you've ever taken an assault of water balloons to the face, or had to deal with a fellow classmate who relished in the joy of firing a paintball gun, then you would understand my viewpoint.

Isn't it funny? Rain and swimming, comedians and pranksters… there are obvious similarities between the pairs. Is it strange that I can be so contradictory in what I like?

This leads to my main comparison: video games and real life. Now, I never said I "hated life." Actually, I quite enjoy it. What I mean is, video games and real life resemble each other in multiple ways; more the video games resembling life, but you get what I mean. Two very alike things… and yet it is possible to occasionally hate life and delve headfirst into a video game.

Why not? Video games rid us of every single problem we're faced with. They give us an alternate identity, bestow us with powers and abilities beyond our wildest imagination, grant us access to new worlds, new environments, enable us to meet new friends and develop relationships with them, and sometimes even turn us into creatures that don't even exist. They confront us with challenges that require us to think, to explore and discover, to contemplate and utilize the beauty of teamwork. They fulfill that instinctive human need to be productive, to _do_ something. And, perhaps the thing about video games that most people take for granted, they give us a second chance. And a third chance. And a fourth. And a fifth. They let us restart at our last saved checkpoint; they let us retry difficult portions of the storyline until you complete it correctly. Or they give you magical healing potions and elixirs to keep you from dying too early. All to assure a safe passage to the end of the game, the final boss fight, the final race, the final puzzle.

When I speak of comparison, and when I refer back to my earlier statements of liking and disliking indistinguishable things, I am speaking as honestly as a woman can. Sometimes you lose yourself in the virtual world because—at that moment—life hasn't been treating you well, and you want to escape. And at that moment, you don't like life, and you love video games.

They're not opposites. Life lessons are always intertwined within the plot of games, from the simplest of racing games to the more complicated open-world adventures. You do something incorrectly, and there are consequences. You take your character to an enemy-infested location, and you're probably gonna die. You drive your car into a wall, and you're probably not gonna win the race. You use up all your medicine at the beginning of the boss fight, and you might be welcomed with the words **GAME OVER** across your screen. Consequences. Consequences equal life. So, not much difference.

But then you've got to look at my situation, my rare, convoluted, hellhole of a situation, and you've got to be taken aback. Sure, the two are closely related, and sure, you can lose yourself in either of them, but when did they interconnect? When did one tie in with the other? When did the way you played the game affect what happened in your actual life?

That's the question I asked myself when I opened my eyes and found myself inside Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2.

Sure, they're similar. Sure, you can hate one and love the other. Sure, they can be like comedians and pranksters to me.

But this?

I could've sworn I'd died and gone to heaven, but there were no gates to greet me, no staircase with angels lining it, praising God and all His glory. All I saw was a dusty Brazilian street from the inside of a truck and a gun resting in my hands.

_Puking_ became the only cure for settling my upset stomach


	3. Takedown

_You can probably tell this already, but my original revamp of this story ends here. Again, if you'd like a more current version of this story, please check my page for the revamped TGTHM. Thank you!_

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Chapter 3

**"Takedown"**

**Day 4 – 15:08:19**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro, Brazil**

Mckinley opened her eyes and groaned. Weak patches of sunlight scoured through the trees lining the Brazilian street. The gentle sound of a city echoed from outside the car. A muscular, dark-skinned man donned in military uniform sat behind the wheel to her left; his eyes scanned the streets for any hostiles. He took no notice of her confused expression. Sighing, she glanced down at her body, checking to see if this was really happening. _I recognize this setup. Takedown. It had to be._ She, too, wore a thick military getup and had an ACR and an M1014 strapped to her back. She reached up to her head and found that her long, straight dark red hair was pulled up into a tight bun underneath a cameo cap. To protect her eyes, she was wearing a pair of black sunglasses with a single rim.

_This cannot be happening._

_I'm inside Modern Warfare 2?_

All of a sudden, someone's voice came from the seat behind her. She spun around; her eyes wide with astonishment.

"Ghost, the plates are a match," came the distinguished British accent of Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish. The rough-looking-but-handsome man was talking on the radio to someone. His hair was dark brown, shaven to a stubby fo-hawk running down the length of his scalp. On top of a black t-shirt, he wore a bulletproof vest adorned with a multitude of small pockets. His faded baggy jeans and hard-soled shoes finished his intimidating look.

"Copy," said a voice from the radio. Mckinley tilted her head in bewilderment, noticing that the voice was tangled beneath a throaty, attractive British accent. _Oh holy crap. It's GHOST._

"Um, excuse me?" she began tentatively, directing her inquiry towards MacTavish. But the man simply disregarded her with a flick of his hand, intent on listening to the radio and his comrade on the other end.

"Any sign of Rojas's right hand man?" Ghost continued, and Mckinley wondered how far away he was from her position. If she really _had_ been transported inside the game, he was at the top of her list of people to meet. Ghost was helping her through the difficult patches of her parents' fighting, and she wanted to thank him.

MacTavish grimaced and peered out the front window. They were following a white van down the Rio de Janeiro streets, searching for someone. "Negative. They've stopped twice already—no sign of him."

"Excuse me?" Mckinley tried again. "Captain MacTavish?"

Finally, the man acknowledged her. "Yes, Queenie?"

Mckinley shot back in disgust. "_**Queenie**_?" _Okay, I know every member of Task Force 141 has a nickname, but Queenie wasn't what I hoped mine to be._

MacTavish chuckled, flashing his pearly whites at her. "Sorry Private, I forgot you don't like us calling you that." He winked. "Just Queen, I remember."

_Queen is better than Queenie. I'll take it._

"Right." She looked out her window, noticing that besides a few common civilians, the town was quiet. Then, it struck her that she'd completely forgot what the mission was. "Uh, Captain? Could you… um… _reiterate _on the situation for me? I must've been… zoned out when the mission was being assigned."

"Sure thing. We're here in Brazil to track down a man named Alejandro Rojas. He's an arms dealer for Makarov. We're here to find him and capture him." MacTavish pointed to the white van ahead of them. "Right now, the guys in that truck are leading us through the streets. We're trying to find an affiliate of Rojas's. He should lead us to the arms dealer himself." The man chuckled again, clutching a gun in his lap. "What, were you too busy checking Ghost out to listen to the mission?"

Mckinley turned beet red and used her glove to cover the redness. _Wait, I was here before? I didn't just pop up out of nowhere? That's pretty strange. _She noticed the smug look on MacTavish's face. _And apparently I've already made a name for myself by ogling at Ghost. Great._

Before she could fire a retort at the captain to redeem herself, the white van pulled in front of an orange building on the corner and came to a halt.

"Wait, they've stopped again. Standby," murmured MacTavish into the radio. He ducked down low beneath the seat and motioned for her to get under the dashboard. Instead, Mckinley crouched, but squinted to see what was happening outside. She watched—along with the driver of her car—as two men came out of the van, holding weapons. They pointed the guns inside at the open door, and another man came out with his hands up.

"Got a positive ID!" MacTavish mumbled again. "Whoever these guys are, they're not happy to see him…"

Suddenly, the unarmed man became armed as he grabbed one of the guns and began firing rapidly at them. Instantly, the two men fell onto the sidewalk: dead.

Mckinley dove under the dashboard to avoid gunfire, while the man continued shooting at everything that moved. She could hear every shot, as loud as if it were right next to her ear.

"Ghost, we have a situation here!" MacTavish yelled from the backseat. "Get down! Get down!"

A random spot of gunfire ricocheted into the car window and hit the driver in the head. Blood splattered everywhere. Mckinley fought the urge to scream like a girl when she sat up; the inside of the car painted a deep, unholy red. The driver lay on the steering wheel, unmoving. Mckinley choked back another scream.

She really had no time to think _or_ scream. The doors behind her opened and shut, and MacTavish called to her from outside of the car.

"He's getting away! Queen, let's go! Let's go!"

Trying to keep her balance, Mckinley kicked open the door and escaped the blood-ridden car before she tossed her cookies. Her head swirled with ghastly images of the blood, and the stink of death. Her ACR felt warm against her gloves, and she held it waist-high. Then, taking a quick breath, Mckinley raced after MacTavish, who was frantically waving at her to follow him.

The two of them raced on foot after Rojas's assistant. They jumped over the dead bodies of the men who'd first been shot nearby the van, and Mckinley didn't _dare_ take a second glance. The reek of death already carried from where they lay.

MacTavish used his radio as they ran. "Ghost, our driver's dead! We're on foot! Meet us at the Hotel Rio and cut him off if you can!"

"Roger, I'm on my way!" Ghost replied.

They dashed past a heap of civilians scrambling to get off the road. Beyond them in the middle of an intersection lay piles and piles of destroyed cars, some even on fire. And again, dead lay strewn out everywhere. Pools of blood… smoke and ash… the screams of people… and the not so distant roar of gunfire. _Rojas's man. He's nearby. He's still running from us!_

As Mckinley and MacTavish rushed past the chaos in the street, Mckinley noticed a familiar figure running nearby the Hotel Rio, trying to catch up to them. He wasn't like the other soldiers she'd seen so far. Though he wore an almost-identical uniform, there was one difference. Over his face he wore a black ski mask with the face of a skeleton imprinted on the front…

_Oh my God, it's HIM. It's GHOST._

He looked exactly how he was supposed to: tall and brawny, with sunglasses covering his eyes and the skull mask hiding his face. A pair of chunky headphones stretched across his head. She didn't get to see much else of him, because he was running alongside them, chasing down Rojas's man.

Ghost pointed at an alleyway nearby. "He went into the alley!"

"Non-lethal takedowns only!" MacTavish ordered firmly. "We need him alive!"

"Got it," Mckinley answered, readying her gun. She remembered this part. She had to shoot the guy's legs as he made a break for it.

_It's just a video game. It's just a video game. It's just a video game._

The three of them dashed into the alleyway, and then turned a corner near some dumpsters. There he was, running wildly away from them. His feet pounded against the concrete in an arrhythmic fashion; his arms swung at his sides to produce more speed.

"Queen—take the shot! Go for his legs!" MacTavish commanded swiftly.

Mckinley knew what she had to do. She stopped running. Her hands lifted the gun up to her neck, bringing the scope to her right eye. She aimed down the sights and let the aiming tool meet the man's legs. Then, she pulled the trigger.

The man fell to the ground.

"He's down." MacTavish patted her on the shoulder quickly and then hurried towards the man. "Good job, Queen."

A few minutes later, Mckinley stood outside of a garage with two other members of Task Force 141. Inside the garage, MacTavish and Ghost were preparing to interrogate Rojas's man. The man was tied to a chair next to a shelf crowded with tools. He struggled and thrashed around, but to no avail. Standing next to him, Ghost prepared an interrogative device to get him to talk—possibly some sort of electric influencer. When he noticed Mckinley watching him, he dipped his head in recognition and returned back to prepping the device. By the garage entrance, MacTavish grabbed the handle of the metal door and began sliding it down.

"Queen, this is going to take some time. Go with Meat and Royce and check out the favela for any sign of Rojas—that's where this guy was headed." Then, with a nod, MacTavish shut the door.

Meat and Royce—the two men he'd referred to—looked at her.

"Ready, Queen?" Meat inquired.

She smiled and held her gun a bit higher. "Yeah. Let's get this done."

Royce pumped his fist. "Let's go."

After she'd fired the perfect shot to slow Rojas's man down, Mckinley had found out a bit more about the situation. Apparently she'd been involved with Task Force 141 for a long while now… and though she had no recollection of being brought inside the virtual world before, the members of the video game sure did. MacTavish was "her close friend" who'd vouched for her when she begged admittance to the army. She was the only female in one-forty-one, and was admired by everyone. _And_ she was even up for a promotion to Private First Class.

_Wow, I come here, hardly do anything, and I'm already respected and loved. Who would've guessed?_

How she'd been in the game previously, she did not know. How they all knew her and were friends with her, she did not know. But she liked it a whole lot. She still had yet to communicate with Ghost alone, but had been receiving information about the strange relationship "Queen" and him were constructing. Evidently, Ghost and Queen had never been "friends," but united colleagues. _Whatever that means._ They'd fought long and hard alongside each other in the past, but never had chances to truly connect, according to what Royce had told her.

Meat, Royce and Mckinley left the front of the garage and continued up a small section of stairs leading to the favela. Beyond the stairs lay a hill clustered with poorly built houses and lean-tos. There was a chain-link fence lining the way into the favela, but parts of it had been ripped off or beaten down.

"Remember—there are civilians in the favela," Royce reminded them. "Watch your fire out there." As he spoke, a small group of citizens became visible in a tiny clearing in front of the favela. They were playing some sort of ball game together; their tongues whipped out Portuguese in fast conversation. Mckinley watched them, searching to see if any were armed.

"Meat, get these civvies outta here," Royce instructed calmly.

"Roger that." Meat began yelling out fluent Portuguese at the crowd, firing his gun in the air so as to not injure anyone. The civilians fled, screaming, and cleared the way into the housing. Mckinley hopped down into the clearing from the ledge and began searching for hostiles in the area.

"I don't see any—" she began, but was cut off as a barrage of gunfire landed at their feet and showered the three soldiers in dust and dirt. Coughing, Mckinley dove behind a beat-up clunker rusting in the clearing and took hold of her ACR. Dust nipped at her eyes and nose, but she ignored the irritating stings and fired the gun rapidly at a hostile on a nearby roof. Then at another. Then another. After a few take-downs, she reloaded as hastily as possible—becoming very confused as to _how_ she knew how to reload the gun—and resumed firing. She'd lost track of where Royce and Meat were, but the sounds of their voices still resonated into her ears.

"Bravo Six, be advised—we've engaged enemy militia at the lower village!" Royce yelled through his radio.

"Are they answering?" Mckinley called out over the shots she fired. Ten hostiles down already, and more to fall soon. She assumed Royce's radio wasn't working, so she decided to offer hers. "I'll try my—"

"Queen! I'm with you! Watch the rooftops!" Royce turned a deaf ear to her question and emerged from out behind another rusty car. His gun shot unfalteringly down a row of buildings where many of the village's militia had taken cover. Mckinley followed right behind him, glancing behind her to see where Meat was. More rounds of gunfire beyond the first row of houses indicated that he was still alive and fighting—but for how long?

As she and Royce hurried to take out the opposing forces, proof that Royce's radio WAS working interrupted them. MacTavish's gruff voice came cleanly through the speakers.

"Royce, gimme a sitrep, over!"

"Lots of militia but no sign of Rojas over here, over!"

MacTavish didn't hesitate in the slightest. "Copy that! Keep searching! Let me know if you see him! Over!"

More shooting. Mckinley was trying to keep a count of how many hostiles she shot down, but she lost track as a small group of five or six men ganged up on her. The men were fast, but she was faster. Before any one of them could lodge a bullet in her body, they were on the ground. Her ACR surely did the trick.

As she took out a few more men, Royce screamed chilling words out into the air, turning her blood to ice. She stopped shooting, stopped moving, and stopped breathing for a second.

"MEAT IS DOWN! I REPEAT, MEAT IS DOWN!"

_Aww crap. Poor guy…_

Reloading as she ran, Mckinley tried to follow the sound of Royce's voice. She knew they'd work better together than split up in this maze of shacks. His voice seemed to be coming from everywhere, however, making it much more difficult. It also didn't help that the enemies yelled out random crap at her in Portuguese that she didn't understand.

"Royce?" she called, her voice peaking at a hoarse tone. "Where are you?"

Her response came from the radio. "QUEEN! I'M HIT!"

Swearing under her breath at her comrade's misfortune, she continued defending herself as she made her way through the lower village. Every so often, a member of the militia would leap from behind a house and try to hit her, but her powerful female instincts always knew when the surprise was coming, and she'd take him out before he even had the chance to pull the trigger.

Finally, after taking out nearly forty militia members, Mckinley hauled herself westward and out of the maze of houses to a long pathway. Graffiti lined the small concrete walls, proving that there was easily a bit of rebellious blood running through the residents.

She stopped walking for a moment and leaned against one of the buildings, trying to catch her breath. Her mind chugged away at a multitude of facts. So far, she hadn't been shot, but the fact that in the video game, you were given a few chances before it was "Game Over," haunted her. Would she be able to restart? Or would she die in the game?

MacTavish's voice interjected into her thoughts from her radio. "Queen, we've got Rojas' location! He's heading west along the upper levels of the favela."

"Good, you need me there to help?" She stood up from the wall and continued her way on the path and up another flight of concrete stairs. "'Cause I don't think I'm that far from the upper levels."

"Yes. We'll keep him from doubling back on our side," was his reply. "Keep going and cut him off up top!"

"Do I get any backup? Both Royce and Meat were killed back at in the lower village." She cringed when she said their names. Only minutes ago had the three of them been conversing plainly.

"There's no time for backup. You're gonna have to do this on your own. Good luck. Out."

She huffed. "Fine. Out."

Mckinley soon found herself between a row of dumpsters and a chain-link fence housing a mean-looking German shepherd. The dog leaped against the fence, barking and snarling at her. It gnawed its teeth on the wires and clawed at the metal. Mckinley sneered at the dog's violent act, recalling that her dog back home, Buddy, was one of the sweetest dogs you could ever meet. She hoped the dog wasn't beaten or hurt for it to behave so viciously.

A wild mass of Portuguese words flung at her from a nearby roof. She spun around and took the man out with one simple shot. Two other men appeared, and they went down quickly.

Suddenly, there came the wild barking of a dog. Another German shepherd rounded a corner and headed straight for her, practically foaming at the mouth and snapping its jaws. Though she hated killing animals, and in the game, she avoided it if she could, she aimed down the sight and shot the dog in the leg. It fell instantly, and was silent.

_Oh God, I'm sorry _she prayed. _Please forgive me. It was going to kill me._

More men popped out of nowhere, firing at her and missing. One, two, three, four—she took them out precisely before any harm could be done. It was time to find her way to the top of the favela, and to stop Rojas before it was too late.

"Queen—this is their territory and they know it well! Keep an eye open for ambush positions and check your corners!"

"Got it, MacTavish!" She reloaded behind a wall and sprung out to take out two more of the men. Then, pulling a loose strand of dark red hair behind her ear, she charged up even more stairs, trying to find the way to the top.

Minutes later, she was up even higher into the favela. Every corner was like a death trap, but she managed to push her way past all of the bombardment and continue trekking. It had been a while until MacTavish had checked in on her, and she was getting a bit worried.

"Queen, we're taking heavy fire from the militia here but I'm still tracking Rojas!" MacTavish's voice was faint behind the loud explosions in the background.

_Worried feelings gone._

"He's gone into a building! Ghost, do you see him?"

_Oh… Ghost… yes, I get to hear him speak!_

Ghost replied instantly. "Roger that, he's climbing onto a roof carrying a black duffel bag!" No reference to Mckinley at all, much to her dislike.

MacTavish chuckled. "Well that ought to slow him down! Queen, we're keeping him from doubling back! Keep moving to intercept! Go! Go!"

Mckinley ducked inside a small building and found a ladder to the roof. She crawled up with her gun in her hand and abruptly received incoming fire about her head.

"Crap!" she yelled angrily, glancing frenziedly around for any form of cover from the guns. "Stupid roof has no COVER!"

"Queen!" _Oh my God. Is that GHOST? _"Don't let the militia pin you down for too long! Use your flashbangs on them!"

Adrenaline seeped into her veins to no end. A powerful surge of energy skated down her spine and to each of her limbs. Her glove tightened around the ACR's handle. Her eyes glowed with determined fire.

"Thanks for the tip, Ghost!" Mckinley jogged across the rooftops, scanning the area for a way to access the taller houses' roofs. "I'm moving as fast as I can! Rojas won't be running for long!"

"I've lost sight of him again!" MacTavish exclaimed furiously. "Ghost, talk to me!"

The radio chatter was giving away her position and alerting nearby militia of her location. They were popping up like daisies* in her way. She lowered the volume on the radio a smidge and pounded up another flight of stairs.

(_* Anyone recognize this line? I borrowed it from Mulan... well, Mushu, actually, when he's talking about the Huns. "They popped out of the snow... LIKE DAISES!"_)

"I'm onto him!" Ghost proclaimed. "He's trying to double back through the alleys below!"

Stairs, stairs, and more stairs. Mckinley took a momentary breather before attacking _another_ flight, and took the break to reload both her weapons. Her M1014 had become briefly handy when the ACR needed a new clip. Instead of reloading and being shot by a hostile earlier, she'd snagged the M1014 from her back and pounded the living daylights out of the enemy. Now, she put her hands against the wall and exhaled as calmly as possible.

Though Ghost's voice was rather attractive, it had randomly sounded out of her radio for the past couple minutes or so, and was getting annoying.

"I've got a visual on Rojas! He's cutting through the market!"

And, of course, MacTavish had to answer in the exact same, ear-piercing tone.

"Roger that! I'll head for the rooftops and try to cut him off on the right! He's going to have no choice but to head west!"

"Awesome," she muttered to herself. "Straight towards me."

She decided on using the M1014 for a while. After all, she was almost to the top of the favela. The constant running, gunfire and obnoxious yelling would end soon.

"I'm taking a lot of fire from the militia! I don't think I can track him through the market! I'm going to have to find another way around!"

_Ghost… always being the honest one._

More stairs and more hostiles brought her to an even higher portion of the favela. If she glanced to the east, she could see the city that they'd come from. It seemed so far away…

Suddenly, as she was glancing quickly out at the city, a wild shot from a man on a roof hit her in the arm. Mckinley didn't DARE drop her gun, but she did find shelter behind a crumbling wall for a moment to compose herself and assess the damage. Thankfully, it was her left arm that was pouring blood, not her good arm. She could still raise and lower it, but it hurt like hell to do so.

"Be advised, I'm about a half a klick east of the market." Ghost seemed very rushed as he spoke. "I can see Rojas running across the rooftops on my right side!"

_Cue MacTavish's reply in a really loud voice._

"Roger that! Queen! We're corralling him closer to your side of the hill! Keep an eye open for Rojas! He's still making his way across the rooftops!"

As his words left the radio's speaker, Mckinley spotted a lone man dashing as fast as he possibly could along the roofs.

"I see him!"

"Good, Queen! Keep him in your sights! Don't shoot him! I need him unharmed!"

Minutes later, she was jogging up a narrow flight of stairs to the very top of the favela. She heard Ghost yell.

"He's gonna get away!" he exclaimed in a panic.

Mckinley managed her way into a small clearing where a tall building stood proudly. An old destroyed car sat at its base. With a relief, she spotted Ghost charging towards the building.

Rojas ran on the ledge of the building, appearing as if he was about to escape. But suddenly, a burly man burst from one of the windows and tackled Rojas in midair.

"No, he's not." MacTavish answered.

MacTavish and the captured Rojas landed flat on top of the wrecked car, smashing the windows and caving in its roof. He whipped out his small pistol and aimed it firmly at Rojas. Ghost and Mckinley circled the car, keeping their sights locked on the enemy.

_FINALLY!_

"Frontrunner, this is Bravo Six," MacTavish said into his radio. "We've got the package. I repeat, we have got the package."

As MacTavish spoke to 'Frontrunner,' Ghost began chattering to someone else. No one seemed to notice that her left arm was covered in red.

"Command, ready for dustoff. Send the chopper. Coordinates to fol—" He paused in mid-sentence. "Bollocks!" he exclaimed angrily. "The skies are clear! Send the chopper _now_." No answer. He let out an aggravated sigh. "Command's got their head up their arse. We're on our own."

His sunglasses lifted from his gun to Mckinley.

"… Queen, are you alright?"

"What?" MacTavish kept his gun against Rojas' forehead, but he looked up to see what Ghost was talking about. "You get shot?" MacTavish asked. She nodded. "Ghost, do you have any medical supplies with you?"

Ghost hurried to Mckinley's side and helped her sit down on the fading green grass. She wanted to smile at how close she was to him, but she didn't. From a pouch on his belt, he pulled out a long stream of gauze and began wrapping her wound in it. As he neared her, she saw through his sunglasses… his eyes, focused and steady. Blue. Pale blue. A cautious blue shade. From behind his skull mask, she could not see if he was smiling or frowning, but his pale blue eyes revealed that he was slightly tense.

"When did this happen?" he asked, his voice steady and composed.

"Earlier. While I headed up the hill to the top." She tried covering her face so as not to reveal the redness surging into her cheeks.

"Why didn't you say anything through the radio?" MacTavish inquired. "That you were shot?"

"I didn't want to worry either of you when you were trying to capture dickhead here." She cringed and clutched her arm. "I've… never been shot before… it fricken' _hurts_, man."

"Don't worry, we'll stop the bleeding. A medic is on his way to our position right now." Ghost used the gauze to sop up the rest of the blood dripping down her arm. Mckinley crinkled her nose in disgust at the smell. It reminded her of rusty pennies.

From nearby, four Task Force 141 members ran over to them. One shoved handcuffs onto Rojas's wrists; another rushed to Queen's side and promptly started tending to her wound. MacTavish stood from the car, brushing at his jeans, and strolled over to Ghost. The two of them began having a heated discussion. Mckinley was watching the medic wrap her arm for a minute, but became distracted by the outraged expression locked on MacTavish's face.

"What's the problem, Captain?" she asked, wincing when the medic accidentally touched her wound. "Something the matter?"

"It appears that our aircrafts have been barred from entering the Brazil airspace _because_ of the damage we caused chasing after 'im." MacTavish motions to Rojas, who's being led away by two men. "I've called for some outside help, however. From an old friend."

"And what about Rojas?"

"He'll remain here to be interrogated, along with his assistant." MacTavish ran a hand over his stubby fo-hawk and then massaged his temples. "C'mon and get up, Queenie. We need to get a move on. The entire city's militia is still after us. We're sitting ducks if we stay here any longer."

Mckinley grumbled inwardly about him calling her "Queenie" again. She thanked the medic, who told her his nickname was Chemo, and stood up from the ground. Something itched at her neck, and she realized that her once tight bun had gotten loose. Irritating strands dangled from the back of her scalp. She swore and yanked the cap from her head to readjust the bun.

From the corner of her eye, she spotted Ghost watching her. MacTavish noticed, also, and slapped Ghost's shoulder playfully. He beamed like a mischievous child.

"Would ya _stop_ checking the poor girl out, already?" MacTavish joked. "Seriously, Ghost. She ain't on display."

Much to her surprise, Mckinley began to laugh. She lowered her face and slammed her palm over her mouth to muffle the sounds. MacTavish, Chemo, and the other soldier—Rocket—all echoed her laughs as well, all finding the captain's remark hysterical. And from behind his mask, Mckinley sensed a smile growing steadily on Ghost's lips, proving he really _did_ have a good sense of humor behind his ghostly mask


	4. Discomfort

Again, just Ghost and Mckinley talking. Next is "The Hornet's Nest," where Task Force 141 must escape the favela! OH NOOOO! *suspenseful music blasts*

Hmm... I wonder if they'll make it out... hmm...

lol

_**ecto1B**_

##############

**Chapter 4**

_Discomfort_

**Lt. Ghost**

_Since we caused such a disturbance within the city, air support was not allowed in the Brazil airspace. We had no way to escape, until Captain MacTavish alerted me that an old friend of his, Nikolai, would be coming to retrieve us in his Pave Low. Could we trust Nikolai? I had to put my faith in the captain on that one. I also had rely on another member of our team—Chemo—to make sure Queen was healed. She'd been shot in the arm as she'd made her way to the top of the favela, and Chemo was in charge of making sure she was capable of handling a weapon and such. To be honest, I was very worried for her. She wasn't one to shy away from the call of duty, but Queen tired easily. Would she be able to make it out of the favela along with us?_

* * *

_Mckinley Front_

**And so began the strange, haphazard chemistry between Ghost and I. MacTavish continued to tease Ghost about how much he stared at me, but when I checked for it, Ghost was looking away. Though the enigmatic masked soldier irrevocably mesmerized me, I still wondered what his feeling were towards "Queen." I was so confused. Somehow they all knew me! And I'd only been inside Modern Warfare 2 for a little over an hour! How did MacTavish know me so well? And I didn't ever recall going into battle with Ghost in the past… well, except for when I was playing MW2 on my XBOX 360.**

**Don't get me wrong, I was LOVING this new lifestyle and new persona. I was still Mckinley Front, but now I had best friends and got to participate in matters I cared about. Yes, I was actually from the year 2010, and Modern Warfare 2 takes place in 2016. I was still fascinated by the glory of it all, with the looming thought that, just perhaps, I could make a difference. Maybe the war would fall in our favor because of me. Maybe, during the "Loose Ends" mission, I could stop Ghost from being slaughtered. The possibilities were endless. And I was ready to utilize them all.**

**Despite a small bundle of fear swelling inside my stomach at an exponential rate, I had the strength to disregard the discomfort and continue being the person they thought I was, Queen. But for how long?**


	5. The Hornet's Nest

Here is "The Hornet's Nest," where they must escape the favela while being attacked by Brazilian militia.

Enjoy! Please review!

_**ecto1B**_

* * *

Chapter 5:

**"The Hornet's Nest"**

**Day 4 – 16:19:43**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Rio de Janeiro, 1700ft A.S.L.**

"Sir, the militia's closing in. Almost two hundred of 'em—front and back!" The anxiety within Ghost's voice had found a temporary home, dug deep underneath his throaty, intensely secure voice.

MacTavish replied with matched energy, but his words were droned out behind the screams and cheers of the Brazilian militia nearby. He and Ghost lead the way through a small row of houses, and Rocket, Chemo and Mckinley followed right behind them with their guns loaded and ready. They were heading in the opposite direction as she'd come from earlier, towards the marketplace. That's where MacTavish's colleague, Nikolai, would rendezvous with the group in his Pave Low.

Ghost and MacTavish continued conversing as they jogged up a small, plant-ridden hill behind a building and towards the marketplace. The only thing Mckinley heard was Ghost saying "Works for me," which sounded positive when coming from his mouth.

"Nikolai!" MacTavish yelled into his radio when the approached a clearing of buildings, teeming with Brazilian militia. "We're at the top of the favela surrounded by militia! Bring the chopper to the market, do you copy? Over!"

Nikolai, like she'd suspected, had a thick Russian accent. "Okay my friend, I am on the way!"

"Engaging hostiles!" Mckinley cried out heroically, blasting away a few men on the road with her newly acquired UMP .45 with an ACOG scope. "Ghost—you see 'em?"

"Affirmative!" Ghost replied. "Tangos at ground level, dead ahead!" He dashed right by her and took cover behind a deteriorated brick wall. "Take cover!"

Rocket hung near MacTavish, while Chemo and Mckinley strayed closer to Ghost. While their captain made a break for a closer position, the others lingered near a more stabilized, invulnerable location. Gunfire came shooting down upon their locality with no hesitance.

"We've gotta get to the helicopter," MacTavish said briskly, ducking behind another automobile laying in the street. "Head through the gate to the market! Move! Everyone get ready! Lock and load!"

As if on cue, her clip ran out, and she had to hide behind a trash can and reload. While she did so, Ghost stepped next to the can and gave her a rush of covering fire. She finished loading the new clip, smiled briefly at her comrade, and continued the assault.

"Contact! Foot-mobiles on the rooftops, closing in fast from the south!" Ghost was right to notice the figures galloping on top of the houses, desperately searching for better cover. Mckinley aimed down the sights and took a few out. One militia member hit a barrel by her legs, sending it ricocheting at her. She dove to the ground and let the barrel roll past. Dust stung her eyes.

Soon, the squad made their way closer to the gate. The enemy forces lining the streets and rooftops had been pushed back just enough for the group to find better cover more south.

MacTavish pointed to the road to the south. "Head through that gate! Keep pushing to the evac point!"

"Go! Go! Go!" Ghost charged down the road, clearing the route for the squad. Mckinley ran at his heels, returning the favor by giving him necessary cover fire.

The roads were a maze. Besides the fiery barricades blockading most of the intersections, they were swarming with Brazilian militia. For every member she took out, another one came out of nowhere and hammered the space nearby her head. In one instant, Mckinley had to dodge incoming fire from a thin black-haired man behind a wall, and as she dodged, she slammed her left arm into a tiny lean-to. Pain overwhelmed her entire body, and she fell to her knees, out in the open and exposed. Her right hand dropped the gun and clutched her other arm. Was the blood spurting out again from her fresh wound?

"Queen!"

"She's _hit_!"

"I'm not HIT, moron!" she screamed at MacTavish. "_Oww_…"

"She hit her arm on the shack," Ghost explained, sprinting to her side and becoming a human shield. "C'mon, Queen, you gotta get up. We have to hurry to the evac site, and we're not leaving you here." He grabbed her gun from the ground and put it in her hand. "We're almost there."

Again, she found his pale blue irises behind the dark shades of his sunglasses. They were looking straight at her, flooded with enthusiasm. At that moment, she wanted to rip off his mask and see the rest of his face, wanting to see eagerness on his lips as well. But that would become problematic. So instead, Mckinley nodded, exhaled slowly, and stood up.

"Keep moving! We're almost at the market!"

She'd heard that about ten times already, each time from a different person. It rotated from MacTavish's mouth, to Ghost's, to Rocket's, and even once to Chemo's. And finally, the statement was true. Beyond a tiny intersection lay the favela marketplace. Chickens in cages squawked and crowed wildly, frightened of the gunfire. A huge pile of flour bags lined one edge of the market entrance. And miscellaneous objects, such as a soccer ball and an old fashioned radio, lined a few of the tables.

"Squad! Spread out and cut through the market! Move!"

_Can you believe that a little while ago I was sitting in the game room, snacking on a bag of grapes and getting ready to kick some terrorist butt on Modern Warfare 2, and now I'm standing in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil, being shot at by Brazilian militia and helping Ghost, MacTavish and two other guys escape?_

Once the marketplace was clear, the four of them made their way towards the landing zone where Nikolai would be landing to pick them up. Mckinley had been out of breath for a while now, but still kept up the hurried pace that the other men handled. Ghost ran in front, and she raced behind him and next to MacTavish. Chemo and Rocket trailed behind.

A loud, whirring sound came from overhead, and then a shadow traced the skyline.

"There's Nikolai's Pave Low!" MacTavish announced. "Let's go!" They dashed inside a small shack, running to reach the chopper before the militia caught up with them. "Nikolai! ETA 20 seconds! Be ready for immediate dustoff!"

The Russian accent blared through. "That may not be fast enough! I see more militia closing in on the market!"

"Shoot!" Mckinley exclaimed angrily. "We'll never make it!"

"Pick up the pace! Let's go!" Her captain outflanked her and raced at the front of the pack.

"We won't make it, Captain!" she countered.

A small grassy area drew a dark shadow, but rabid gunfire was preventing the aircraft from landing. If it tried, it might be shot down.

"It's too hot!" Nikolai hollered. "We will not survive this landing!"

Instead of trying to board the Pave Low, MacTavish seemed to figure out a new strategy for tackling this violent situation. The group of five stopped running for half a second as the captain gave Nikolai a new order. Mckinley took the time to roll her shoulders and neck, loosening her arm muscles.

"Nikolai, wave off, wave off! We'll meet you at the secondary LZ instead! Go!"

"Very well, I will meet you there. Good luck!" The chopper lifted off higher into the sky and hovered over to a new location, out of the range of the enemy. MacTavish ordered everyone to follow him, as the squad shoved their way up the roof of another building.

"Come on! We've got to get to the rooftops! This way!"

Mckinley stumbled after them, smelling smoke and ash close by. "What if—what if we don't make it?"

"Never mind that, look!" The chopper was hovering at the end of a long strip of rooftops, waiting for them. "Let's go, let's go!"

Nikolai found the time to make a comedic comment. "My friend, from up here, it looks like the whole village is trying to kill you!" Mckinley tried smiling, but her cheeks hurt from grimacing too much. She raced at the back of the squad, leaping over breaks in the rooftops and falling behind drastically. A few clotheslines got in her way, but she shoved past them and tried to keep up.

"Tell me something I don't know! Just get ready to pick us up!" Even when racing for his life, MacTavish was slightly amusing.

Ghost became the first one aware of an important fact. "We're running out of rooftop!" he cried desperately. And they sure were. A huge gaping hole separating two buildings lay in their path. Luckily, a smaller roof across the way led to where the Pave Low was docked. All the squad had to do was jump…

"We can make it!" MacTavish determined. "Go! Go! Go!"

Without a second thought, Mckinley jumped…

Ghost, Rocket, Chemo and MacTavish landed firmly on the opposite roof. But she hadn't leapt far enough. Her fingers grabbed the ledge in a panic; her screams of terror echoed throughout the entire favela. MacTavish lunged for her hand—terror blanketing his entire face—but her hands slipped, and Mckinley tumbled into the road below. She slammed against the pavement, and everything went black…

Mckinley…

Queen…

"QUEEN! QUEEN! WAKE UP!" MacTavish screamed from her radio. She rubbed her head and moaned, trying to get her eyes to focus. She'd survived the awful landing, but where was she now? Something pounded in her ears.

"QUEEN! WE CAN SEE THEM FROM THE CHOPPER! THEY'RE COMING FOR YOU, DOZENS OF 'EM!" Ghost's throaty voice was bubbling over with alarm and worry. And she knew why. From where she was laying, she could see shadows of the militia appeared on the walls of the buildings around her. They held guns and chanted wild Portuguese.

"Queen! There's too many of them! Get the hell out of there and find a way to the rooftops! Move!"

A shock of lightening surged through her body. She sprung to her feet and scampered inside a nearby building, searching for stairs.

"Run for it! Get to the rooftops!"

Bullets exploded everywhere. She dashed through a house and watched pictures shatter and fall off the walls, things fly at her from out of nowhere. Electrical boxes smashed into pieces over her head. She didn't stop running, however. She was NOT going to die in a video game.

"Queen, we're circling the area but I can't see you! You've got to get to the rooftops!"

Stairs.

_Stairs._

Where the hell are the stairs?

Four flights of them appeared out of nowhere as she rounded a corner. _Finally! A way to the rooftops!_

She came out of a top-story room and vaulted onto the roofs. The Pave Low was in her sights… now, could she get there in time?

"Queen, I see you! Jump down to the rooftops and meet us south of your position! Go!"

_Man, MacTavish says "go" a lot._

Her legs were beginning to tire out again, but she kept going. Nikolai informed her that the chopper's gas was low and that he had to leave in thirty seconds.

"I'm COMING!" she screamed, passing water towers and satellite dishes on her way to the chopper. "DON'T leave without me!" Tears dripped down her face, engulfed in pure fear. _They might leave me here…_

There was a slanted roof in her path. She slid down it and exploded into the window, shattering it. Then, she saw at the end of the pavement… the chopper. It was there… a ladder hung out of the window for her, but she'd have to jump.

"I'm gonna miss!" she cried in fear, sprinting now.

"JUMP FOR IT!" MacTavish and Ghost exclaimed in unison.

She did…

Her feet left the ground. Her hands outstretched… aiming for the ladder. It began to look like she'd miss. And then…

"Nikolai, we got her! Get us outta here!"

"Where to, my friend?"

"Just get us to the sub…"

Mckinley quickly succumbed to a heat wave of relief. Ignoring the gorgeous landscape that she was dangling dangerously above, she shook away the huge sweat drops dripping from the tip of her nose and let it fall downward to the horrific sight below. With the small amount of energy her body could muster, she crawled her way up the ladder and collapsed on the floor of the chopper once MacTavish and Rocket had hauled her up. Instantly, she began to cough, and she watched in horror as blood spurted from between her teeth. _Oh God, not in front of my squad…_ But Chemo rushed to her side with a box of medical supplies, ready to assist her. She choked back more blood from her throat and shut her eyes.

"Is your friend okay?" Nikolai called from the front of the Pave Low, already bringing the chopper out over the ocean.

MacTavish made a side glance to meet Chemo's brown-eyed gaze. Once the medic had dipped his head in certainty, the captain answered.

"She'll be fine. Just hurry to the sub, Nikolai." He smirked. "We're not allowed to be late." With that, he stood and returned to the cockpit of the Pave Low to speak with his friend. Chemo resumed tending to Mckinley, and Rocket and Ghost took a seat on the benches lining the walls of the chopper. Rocket was still attempting to catch his breath, while Ghost remained perfectly still and silent.

"I can't… believe… we made it… outta there…" Rocket managed shakily, continuing to breathe in a steady pace.

"All in one piece, too," Chemo remarked. He gave Mckinley an injection of painkiller and helped her sit on the bench. "Just stay here until we get to the sub, okay?"

She clamped her gloved hand on top of where he'd injected the medicine, extinguishing the nasty sting with applied pressure. Then, wincing, she nodded.

"Fine," she grumbled, pulling herself into the fetal position and burying her head in her arms. "I don't wanna move anywhere, anyway."

Rocket turned his attention to her. "I swear to God, Queen. I thought you were a goner when you fell off the roof."

"Scared the hell outta us…" Ghost mumbled softly.

"I thought I was dead, too." Mckinley ran her tongue across her teeth nervously. Though the danger was gone and brawny, armed men surrounded her once more, shivers persisted to run down her spine and her hands still shook madly. "I thought it was over."

"But it's not." MacTavish strolled back into the area where they were sitting; his arms were crossed and his face was stern. "It isn't the end for you, Queen." He shook his head. "No… it's only the beginning…"

"The beginning… _of _the end," Chemo murmured shakily.

"Hooah." The captain sat down next to Mckinley and met her eyes. "If you think _that_ was hard, wait until what you hear what our _next_ mission is."

Mckinley sighed, knowing exactly what mission came next in Modern Warfare 2, and also knowing how much the next level _scared the crap outta her._

"Submarines?" she asked reluctantly.

MacTavish nodded. "Submarines."


	6. Piece by Piece

This chapter is a snippet of the conversation between MacTavish and Shepherd (GRRRRRRRRR I HATE YEW SHEPHERD) right before the level "The Only Easy Day... Was Yesterday." I added a bit more to the end...

_**Replies to reviews:**_

**Horseygirl96**- OMG thank you so much for being such a loyal reader! I love that you've never played Call of Duty, yet you read my story. :D Thanks a ton, and I appreciate your reviews and comments. ^_^

**Dunedain789**- YES isn't Ghost amazing? YAY I feel proud to have found another Ghost lover! HECK YES he has a wonderful British accent, and yes he is smexy. XD lol thanks so much for reviewing and reading. I'm glad you like my story. if you have any ideas, please let me know. Any ideas on how Ghost should approach his feelings, maybe? Or how Queen could react? I have a small idea, but I could use a little injection from my readers once in a while. :D From one Ghost lover to another, thank you!

**Kap**- I am LOVING your Price-figures-it-out idea... hmmm... I _might_ just have to use it... hmm... lolol yes, being locked in a hole makes you a loony. :D that's probably the funniest thing I've read in weeks, so thank you. Yes, lol it IS soooooo funny how easy it is to become attracted to his smexy British accent. And no, don't worry, I love when readers send me rambling messes... it proves that my readers have a lot to say!

**To all readers**- Please... if you have any ideas for this story... (plot twisters, funny/serious lines, etc.)... PLEASE let me know in a review or even a PM. Thanks a bunch for reading!

ENJOY!

_**ecto1B**_

* * *

Chapter 6:

_Piece by Piece_

Captain MacTavish: Seems we're headed the wrong direction, Sir. Shouldn't we be coming back to the fight?

Shepherd: Plenty of fight to go around, MacTavish. Glad you made it outta South America. You're meeting up with the 6th Fleet. Leadin' the counter-strike.

**[COORDINATES SET. PRISIONER 627 LOCATED]**

Shepherd: Prisoner Six-Two-Seven. We believe that's who Makarov's got the mad-on for. But we can't get to him.

**[OILRIGS LOCATED]**

Captain MacTavish: Oilrigs, Sir?

**[SPECIFIED OILRIG: VIKHOREVKA 36 OIL PLATFORM, EAST RUSSIA]**

Shepherd: Russians are using them as SAM sites. Oil workers are human shields, so we can't just blow up the rigs wholesale. And this one is the least defended.

**[LAYOUT OF SPECIFIED OILRIG ESTABLISHED]**

Shepherd: Boys, I know I'm sending you into the meat grinder on this one—

Captain MacTavish: They're defending it, so it means we want it. Especially if it gets us to Six-Two-Seven.

**[SUBMARINE LOCATED]**

Shepherd: You'll be loaded into the submarine and deployed below the oilrig. Then, you will capture the rig, piece by piece, recovering the hostages as you go.

Captain MacTavish: And my squad is made up of…

Shepherd: You're with Team 2. Along with Ghost and Queen from your squad, two Navy SEALs will be joining you.

Captain MacTavish: Sounds fun.

Shepherd: Good luck, MacTavish.


	7. Imbecile

Yay! My second favorite level is coming up next! :D

Please read and review!

**_ecto1B_**

* * *

Chapter 7:

_Imbecile_

_Mckinley Front_

**I'm not scared of much. I've endured pretty much all of the most popular, most common fears straight on, seeing them smack-dab in front of my face. Spiders? Puh-leese. Falling? Well, I'd fallen off a building as I missed the ledge. Yes, it was scary, but I survived. No harm done. Claustrophobia? A joke, and for me, easily survivable. Scared of death? Eh, slightly… but hey. I was in a WAR. Death happening around me was inevitable.**

**But everyone has a weakness. Superman: Kryptonite. Spiderman: probably Mary Jane, if she's in trouble. Batman: well, he's too cool for a weakness… never mind him… in fact, pretend I never mentioned the Dark Knight at all.**

**My point is, though the common fears don't bother me very much, I still DO have a weakness. A fear. And, much to my dislike, my fear was clearly represented in one of the Modern Warfare 2 levels, titled "The Only Easy Day… Was Yesterday."**

**And, even more to my dislike, that level came next in the sequence. I really had no choice in the matter; stupid Shepherd was all "Oh, you're part of Team 2 with MacTavish and Ghost…" which was total bait for me because I felt I was slowly falling for the masked man and I didn't want to leave his side. Grumbling, I reluctantly agreed to assist with the mission.**

**What am I afraid of, you ask?**

_**Being underwater.**_

**As we loaded into the submarines, there was one sentence that kept repeating itself over and over in my head like a broken record.**

_**Ghost better not leave my side.**_

* * *

**Lt. Ghost**

_How was I supposed to know she was afraid of being underwater? Queen decided to tell me this crucial and rather important piece of information right before we all loaded into the submarines. I offered to explain the situation to the men in charge before we launched, but she quickly rejected my offer. Apparently she had one condition I had to stay by in order for her to remain calm while underwater._

_Suddenly I was a suck-up, a guardian, and an infatuated imbecile._

_Much to my surprise—and probably to your surprise as well—I was not the first to say those three things. Queen called herself those things. I heard her._

_Was she infatuated with MacTavish?_

_Or me?_


	8. The Only Easy Day Was Yesterday

Hey howdy hey! ^_^ it's FRIDAY! *confetti and balloons fall onto devoted readers* And I've got a Friday present for you guys! Chapter 8!

THANK YOU SO MUCH everyone for the incredibly wonderful reviews. I love and read every single one of them.

This chapter was cut short because I completely ran out of time to really write the entire plot of the level... besides, it was boring me. So I added the really deep part between MacTavish and Mckinley/Queen at the end just for you guys! And NO. MacTavish and Mckinley/Queen ARE NOT AND WILL NOT become a couple. Think of them as a Jacob/Bella relationship, but not so like Jacob is madly in love with her. More like they're really good friends and could possibly be with each other if it was the end of the world, but would prefer to be friends instead. Besides, MacTavish (though sexy ^_^) knows that Mckinley has a thing for Ghost, so he won't intervene.

But OMG! (Oh My Ghost! TEEHEE!) Does Ghost like Mckinley back? Or, as one of my incredible readers pointed out in a message to me, will he just continue to "keep people at arms length" and try not to get so attached to her?

HMMMM? QUESTIONS QUESTIONS QUESTIONS!

**And I want a headcount. How many of you are in love with Ghost? (well, mostly his sexy British accent because we haven't been able to see his face... *pouts*)**

Love you all and thank you so much for reading and reviewing! Give me ideas!

_**ecto1B**_

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Chapter 8:

**"The Only Easy Day… Was Yesterday"**

**Day 5 – 5:48:38**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Vikhorevka 36 Oil Platform, Russia**

Shutting her eyes and humming a Beatles song was not enough to block out the bubbling sounds of the water encompassing the submarine. Much to Mckinley's dislike, trying to ignore the sounds seemed to make them significantly louder. Every so often, a watery echo pinged into the fixed dark walls of the sub, making her spine shiver. The butterflies inside her stomach had slowly found a way to mutate into mammoth butterflies. They pounded and thrashed away against her frail ribcage.

As she gripped the handles of the mini-sub, she wondered how she would deal with the gentle lapping of the water cascading upon the exposed inch of skin on her face when the SDV lock filled with water. They hadn't even launched yet, but already she was in a panic. Ghost and MacTavish had been assigned a different mini-sub, so she was alone with two complete strangers on this one. (They'd accidentally miscounted and forced her to join Team 1 temporarily until they reached the oilrig) And trusting two strangers underwater—though they were Navy SEALs—scared her to the bone. If something went wrong—

"U.S.S. Chicago Actual to drylock shelter, we have a go."

Water poured in from both sides. Though Mckinley was wearing scuba gear and had an air tank strapped to her back, she imagined her trachea constricting at the sight of the water level crawling up her body. Her skin quivered beneath the slimming wetsuit, reacting to the water's icy-cold temperature.

"SDV hangar flooded, full pressure."

"Begin deployment."

The hangar cap swung open, and the clear blue ocean was in sight. From where she was located, a school of fish swam past the door and away from the foreign object.

"Team 1 SDV is away."

The mini-sub pushed its way out of the cramped tube and out into the ocean waters. It was too overwhelming, and she shut her eyes once more.

"Hotel Six, bearing zero one-niner."

She tried breathing slowly through the scuba air tank. The mutant butterflies flapped around even faster, hitting the insides of her stomach wall and almost begging to be released. Because of that, she opened her eyes. The darkness beneath her eyelids was making her sick.

_I am NOT throwing up underwater. WAY too gross._

The mini-sub passed another huge submarine called the U.S.S. Dallas, and she spotted another SDV launching into the water. _Team 2!_ _Where I was supposed to be!_

"U.S.S. Dallas deploying Team Two. RV at the objective."

"Hotel Six, depth 20 meters."

The front member of Team 2 turned around to face Mckinley's SDV. He held out a positive thumbs up. Another man hanging on to her sub responded with the "perfect" hand sign.

After a few more moments of heading forwards underwater, a looming shadow appeared in front of the two subs. At first, she thought it was some sort of underwater structure, but coming closer to it, she realized it was the bottom portion of the oilrig.

"Team Two at the objective."

She watched the members of the other submarine exit the water vehicle and begin swimming upwards to a platform sitting atop the water. They became black blurs in the ocean's darkness, almost like fish from a distance. Realization flooded through her veins. _The underwater part is almost done._ Soon, she could breathe a sigh of relief.

As her sub neared the oilrig, her team began swimming up to the surface as well. The man in front turned around to face her, pointing up. Once Mckinley nodded, he vanished into the waters above. Shakily, she followed. Though she hated being underwater, she'd learned how to swim at an early age. It was nothing new. Kicking off, Mckinley took a breath into the scuba tank and treaded to the surface.

Popping her head above the surface, Mckinley took a huge breath and savored the early morning air hitting her wetsuit. But she quickly noticed that no one else had come up from underwater yet. Why was that?

A fumble of thick Russian sounded from on the platform. Two guards stood near the edge of the dock, conversing and wielding weapons. Mckinley ducked a bit lower back into the water and slowly paddled her way towards the nearest Russian guard.

MacTavish murmured into the radio a command. Mckinley unintentionally swooned at the cautiousness and surreptitiousness of his heavy British accent.

"We'll take them out at the same time… on your go…"

"Hooah," she whispered back, inching her way closer and closer to the edge. The guards continued to chat, not sensing the multiple people below them in the watery depths. Mckinley knew she would hate herself for any sort of hand-to-hand combat, but this was the only option for this situation.

As silently as possible, Mckinley gripped the edge of the platform with one hand and reached up to grab the guard by his backpack. On the opposite side, MacTavish yanked the second guard straight into the water.

The guard flailed around as she pulled him under the water. She imagined his eyesight blurring, his body freezing, his facial expression succumbing to a wave of panic and fear… everything she'd felt when her cousin had pushed her into the water at Lake O'Neil the summer when she was twelve. He was _her_… afraid of the water's petrifying murkiness and worried he'd never leave it. He'd forget how to breathe, only engulfing masses of the dirty water with every cough and choke. His blood would run ice cold… Mckinley hated seeing this and being the cause of his terror. She desperately wanted to help him back up to the platform to enable his lungs to fill with air once more. But—she knew—he'd already taken his last breath.

"I'm sorry," she bubbled from the air tank, extracting a knife from her front pocket and inserting it into his chest with one motion. Without taking a second glance, she gently propelled the Russian man downward into the black abyss and hoped he'd die quickly and not see where he was headed or what his gravesite would be. Then, fighting a brutal stream of tears, she swam back to the platform.

Two SEALs waited at the top for her. They reached for her arms and helped her out of the water. Both men had black smears of face makeup strewn like stripes across their serious features, and for one second she thought they were omens of death… she'd just murdered a man and sent him tumbling into nothingness. Her heart ached and throbbed uncontrollably.

MacTavish and the others were removing all unnecessary equipment from their bodies before beginning taking the rig. Mckinley did the same, prying the scuba tank from her back and wrenching the goggles and wetsuit hood from her head. Her dark red hair—practically all dry and untouched—was pulled back into a neat high ponytail.

"Two hostiles down in section One-Alpha," MacTavish reported into the radio. "Moving up to section Two."

A SEAL handed her a M4A1 Carbine with a Red Dot Sight—perfect for a mission like this. She dipped her head in thanks, and he mirrored her politely. Now, he wasn't an omen. Just a normal man assisting her and Task Force 141 in the taking of this oilrig.

_Just breathe, Mckinley. This'll all be over soon._

The sub commander responded. "Roger that, Hotel Six."

The group proceeded up a flight of metal stairs without saying a word. Ghost appeared behind her, also in a wetsuit. Like always, his pitch-black balaclava concealed everything, and his tinted sunglasses obscured any chance of meeting his eyes.

"Keep it tight, people…" MacTavish whispered through the radio.

Mckinley crouched as she walked. Her wetsuit was digging into all the wrong places, but she dared not even THINK about stopping and fixing it. Yes, it was accenting her curves pleasantly. But some accents were not being appreciated.

The team met up at a larger base platform, where huge machines were hooked up. Nearby, another Russian guard contemplated the ocean below from a safety railing. An identical clothing choice made him indistinguishable from the soldier she'd pulled underwater moments ago. She shivered.

"Got a visual by the railing," Ghost said; again, every word spoken was quiet radio chatter.

MacTavish met Mckinley's eyes. "Free to engage. Suppressed weapons only."

"Hooah."

As silently as possible, she ducked behind a roof support close by and aimed the Red Dot Sight onto the preoccupied man. Letting the dot meet his chest, she pulled the trigger. He fell beyond the railing and into the waters below without a sound.

_At least I didn't have to fight him in hand-to-hand combat._

Ghost nodded to her. "We're clear." His ghost mask seemed to be smiling at her.

The group made their way over to a pair of locked doors lining the left wall. Russian men prattled inside. A rush of odd excitement consumed her, as Mckinley knew exactly what this part involved. _The epic slow-motion breach._

The sub commander read her mind. "Civilian hostages at your position. Watch your fire."

"Roger that. Team One moving to breach."

Mckinley was handed a flat white box-looking thing by one of the SEALs. She suppressed a wide grin, feeling like a kid on Christmas. The slow-motion breaches were her _absolute favorite_ part of Modern Warfare 2. She recalled the first time she'd played the game when she'd accidentally killed all of the hostages and spared the hostiles. After that, she really took it upon herself to try _not_ hit the good guys.

Once everyone was in position around the doorway, she slammed the white box onto the door and backed up. Milliseconds later, the box exploded.

With her heart pumping wildly and her skin tingling, Mckinley lunged into the room and felt the world slow down. The pieces of the destroyed doorway sailed across the small room as if held by strings. There were a few men tied to chairs and blindfolded across the room, but Mckinley was experienced enough to tell the bad from the good. Three shots and the room was safe.

"Clear," Ghost confirmed as the world returned to its normal speed.

"We're clear," MacTavish echoed. "Hostages secured in section Two-Echo."

"Roger that, Hotel Six," the sub commander replied. "Team 2 will secure and evac. Get topside and find the rest of the civvies."

They exited the room swiftly. As they hurried to the next staircase, Mckinley found Ghost and patted him on the back in a friendly gesture.

"Well that was fun," she commented dryly. Ghost chuckled beneath his mask at her retort and absentmindedly reloaded his gun.

"You're wrong, Queen," he said in response. "The fun hasn't even started yet."

######################

"Control, all hostages have been secured. I repeat—all hostages secured. Proceeding to LZ Bravo, over."

Mckinley leaned against the wall and closed her eyes tightly, trying to slow the fast-paced beating of her heart. They'd just breached a huge room full of multiple hostages and plenty of deadly explosives; one misfire could've cost the entire team their lives. The pressure had been unsustainably immense. And now that it was over and the oilrig was theirs to claim, she could breathe normally once more. No one was going to come out and shoot her, no one was going to set off the explosives, no one was trying to snipe her head clean off. Ghost, MacTavish, and a handful of Navy SEALs surrounded her. They were a sign of comfort and consolation. Everything was over. For now.

_Fun? Ghost, you call that FUN? I'm sorry, but you're crazy. _

"Good job, Hotel Six," the sub commander said proudly. "Marine reinforcements are inserting now to dismantle the SAM sites. Get your team ready for phase two of the operation. Out."

Wait.

_WTF?_

_Phase TWO?_

"Holy _crap_, MacTavish," she grumbled to her captain when he walked past her. "I don't recall you saying anything about a fricken' phase _two_?"

He grinned. "Yep, we're headed to the gulag." He motioned for her to follow him, Ghost, and the others. "Let's get a move on; the heli doesn't wait forever. _Especially_ not for complainers."

She crossed her arms and let out a loud huff. "Hey, I am _not_ complaining. I'm just wondering when you were going to inform us that this mission had two parts."

"_I _heard him tell us," Ghost said slyly, striding alongside his captain.

Mckinley playfully punched his wetsuit's shoulder. "I _wusn' tawkin' to you, _Ghostie…" She subdued a sharp giggle from coming out from between her chapped lips, absolutely loving the strange accent she'd given herself. And "Ghostie" sounded pretty cute…

"So, my lieutenant hears me mention a phase two, but you don't." MacTavish rapped a finger against his chin in playful consideration. Now it was just the three of them strolling towards the helicopter nearby, for the SEALs had left to untie the hostages. "What does that tell us about Queen?"

"That she's most often distracted by something else while you're debriefing us," Ghost observed plainly, receiving a sarcastic gasp from the female soldier. The two men laughed.

Her face turned a bright crimson. "Oh, _shut up_, you _English teabags_."

"Distracted by…_ Ghost_?" MacTavish suggested, continuing to laugh his jolly British laugh in her ear. An even deeper shade of red appeared on her cheeks.

Before Mckinley could snap back, or Ghost could counter MacTavish's statement, someone's voice came out of MacTavish's radio. "Hotel Six, the chopper is ready to depart," the sub commander informed him. "Phase two will commence shortly."

The three soldiers stopped laughing and hurried to board the chopper. Ghost remained on the landing pad, for that helicopter was full and he was to wait for the next one. After all, they'd all head to the same place: the Gulag, where Prisoner 627 was being held. It didn't make a difference if Ghost boarded that chopper or the next one. But to Mckinley, it DID make a difference. She'd just been accused of becoming distracted by him, and he'd heard it. Did he realize that he was her favorite Modern Warfare 2 character? Did he realize that a part of him haunted her everyday life? Did he realize that she looked out for him the way he looked out for her?

Sitting upon the chopper's safety bar, Mckinley waved at Ghost before the helicopter took off into the sky and circled around the oilrig. MacTavish sat beside her, looking out at the morning skyline with a satisfied expression on his unshaven face. His hazel eyes glazed over with tranquility, startling Mckinley a great deal. This serenity was unlike her captain. Never during the game had his mind left the fields of the battle—from what she'd seen on the TV screen, that is. What had gotten into him now?

"What is it?" she asked when his gaze became steadily firm.

He glanced at her, then back out again. "I'm just thinking."

"_About_?"

MacTavish smirked, and continued to stare out at the horizon. "About how beautiful the sunrise is."

She sucked in a breath. "O…._kay_… random scale exceeds maximum level for Captain John MacTavish…"

After he laughed a bit, the captain returned to the subject of the morning. "I know it's a bit unorthodox for me to be noticing something like that, but I just did, and it's very beautiful." Suddenly his face grew fiercely serious. "Queen, you joined the army a while after me. What's a morning look like from the standpoint of an innocent bystander?" He coughed. "You know… without the thought of war looming over your shoulder?"

Mckinley was taken aback at his unusual request. "Well… erm… it's like… well, just like this one, I suppose." She drummed her fingers against the barrel of her gun. "I mean, mornings usually don't change from day to day, y'know…" He gave her a look, and she cleared her throat. "But I guess the only difference could be that…" she trailed off, trying to remember the last time she sat down and watched the sun rise or set. Nothing came to mind. For the most part, everyone around her was busy during those times of day. She couldn't recall anyone ever just sitting down and watching the sun. It literally must've been years since _she'd_ done so, and now Mckinley was sitting on a helicopter with a military captain, staring in awe at the glowing ball of fire before them. Then she realized what to tell MacTavish. "…that when you're a simple, average person, the sunrises and sunsets all blur together and all look the absolute same. Their beauty is wasted, and the image just becomes an everyday event that nobody really pays attention to." She studied MacTavish's face carefully before continuing on. "But when you're part of a war, and you don't see beauty very often anymore. And when there's a simple sunrise that you'd normally take for granted, you stop and wonder how the world could manage to produce such a spectacular event in such a bloody, savage time…" her voice cracked and faded.

MacTavish was completely still for about a minute before he let out an overwhelmed gasp.

"Queen," he began—the corners of his lips stretching up towards his temples at a rapid pace—"… you speak as if you are thirty years older than you really are." He put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "Thank you for clearing that up for me. I firmly agree with you about the sunrises."

She dipped her head. "Thanks, Captain."

He coughed slightly and began reloading his gun. "Now… back to phase two…" His teeth gleamed between his lips. "Let's clear the bloody Gulag of tangos and find Prisoner 627 before one of us gets shot in the arse."

Mckinley, satisfied with the depth of their conversation and glad he'd ended it appropriately, raised her left fist and shook it with gusto. The Russian border was in sight, and their mission would follow soon after.

"Let's get this fricken' party _started_."


	9. One

Hey everyone! New chapter up! Yeah, I'm on a roll. Just don't expect many chapters this coming week. Though school has JUST started, I already have tons of homework. I know, right? Not fair.

(Looks at Ghost) Ghostie, could you and the boys handle my homework for me? (puppy-dog pout)

Ghost: (sighs) Of course. (motions to Task Force 141) C'mon, let's start reading Chapter 1 of her Biology book for her...

YAY! THANX GHOSTIE!

lol anyway, I have a bit of info for you guys! You'll notice that during Mckinley/Queen's message after Ghost's, she asks multiple questions, not really addressing anyone in particular. I thought that maybe YOU guys could reply to her. Y'know, answer the questions she asks. I think it'd be really cool, and I may have a little bit of info to give out to the people who DO respond to her... _**(HINT HINT HINT)**_

**Scented Of Roses: **You asked two questions that I thought I should answer on the disclaimer. One: you wondered "Wait, where the hell is Roach?" Answer: I sorta kicked him outta the story (sorry Roach fangirls... don't hate me...) to put Mckinley in his place. The reason? Because frankly, I have NO IDEA how he talks, what he looks like... etc. I didn't really want to keep a character that I could just easily replace. :'( Sorry everyone. I do love Roach, don't get me wrong. But this is Mckinley's shining moment.

Question Two was: "How did Mckinley get her callsign?" Well if you look up above at the HINT HINT HINT, you'll notice that I said I might have a bit of info to disclose... **_about a sequel_**, perhaps? (cough cough cough) And I PROMISE you will eventually learn the story. I PROMISE. :D

Okay, that's a wrap! Please read and review! I LOVE REVIEWS ^_^

_**ecto1B**_

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Chapter 9:

_One_

**Lt. Ghost**

_Ever since we escaped the favela, I'd been having curiously vivid daydreams. Nothing like the usual assortment of hallucinations that came to me during a mission. No, these were exceptionally terrifying… and they were slowly sucking the life out of me one day at a time. The first one came as we were taking off in Nikolai's Pave Low, with Queen coughing up blood and our prospects falling on us like acid rain. In Queen's bloodshot eyes, I saw my mum—my dead mum, that is. I saw her anguish and pain, and I heard her speak to me._

_"Simon…" my mum had murmured. Her voice was much unlike what I'd remembered. No longer was it comforting, warm and affectionate, striving to outlive all the abuse she'd encountered with my alcoholic father. Now her voice was wretched and gloomy, pinged with distrust and desolation. "You let me be slaughtered. You didn't do anything to save me. **It's all your fault**, Simon."_

_I'd felt my throat constricting and my skin become hot with agony. My mum had once been a very beautiful woman, but now her skin was white and her eyes were bloodied and sore. Seeing her looking like that had been absolute hell._

_In the background, I saw Chemo tending to Queen and injecting a painkiller into her arm. Her lips moved and formed words, but though I strained to hear her, I could not. My mum's voice was the loudest sound in my head._

_"Your _**brother**_, Simon. **Your very own brother**. He's dead because of you. Poor Thomas… he had a family, unlike you. And you let all of us be murdered. Thomas… his wife, Beth… even their five-year old son, Joseph. They're all dead because you didn't try."_

_I tried not to shed a single tear, for I had enough sense to realize that Queen, MacTavish and the others were still there with me. They couldn't see my mum, and they'd wonder why I was crying. But I was so disturbed… so tortured by listening to my mum tell me I was at fault. My eyes began watering, and I rested my elbows on my knees to muffle the sounds of my faint sobs. Behind my mask, no one could tell I was in pain. That's why I wore it._

_Then, I managed to glance up at Queen. Her black eyeliner was smeared from the tears she'd shed while running to the chopper. Her dark red hair was wild and tangled. But yet, I saw a piece of celestial innocence behind her grey eyes. Someone that could possibly assure me things were going to be okay. Someone who could convince me that these hallucinations were fake; that my mum would never say such a thing to me. Suddenly I was certain of those facts. I could turn to her for help._

_Almost as if she'd read my mind, the ghost of my mum glanced over at Queen, observing what I called angelic. A chalky simper appeared on my mum's pallid, dry lips, and she faced me once more._

_"If that woman learns to trust you, Simon, surely she will die," my mum told me. My heart thrashed against my ribcage in objection. "You won't be able to protect her like Thomas tried to protect Beth." My mum shook her head. "You cannot have a life with that woman, Simon. You'd have no life with that woman… no home, no children, because you aren't real." Her breath became icy as she leaned towards me. I choked back another sob as she added, **"You're merely a ghost."**_

* * *

_Mckinley Front_

**I couldn't believe it when I found it as we rested the night we'd escaped the favela. My iPod Touch. It'd been in one of the smaller pockets in my waist pouch all this time, and I'd never realized it. How the hell did it wind up in my pocket? I don't recall having it when I was transported into Modern Warfare 2… Aw, what the hell. I had my iPod, and I wasn't complaining.**

**I'm a big rock 'n' roll fan, actually, so I spent most of that night playing songs for the fellas. MacTavish loved listening to The Who, Chemo preferred Green Day, and Ghost claimed he enjoyed them all. Frankly, I don't think he did. He kept to himself that entire night, but became his regular self in the morning. Anyone know what his problem is?**

**Anyway, I thought I might've scared/insulted Ghost when I blasted "One" by Metallica. The lyrics seemed to have gotten under his skin…**

**Oh, and when I randomly played "Second Chance" by Shinedown, I swear I saw him shiver and turn away.**

**Did I do something wrong?**


	10. The Gulag Pt 1

Hey my beloved readers! Yes, I know I posted the last chapter... eh... was it Sunday? Well, don't expect quick chapters anymore. School's started and man, I already had four tests this week. (all A's, thankfully!) The homework load is also substantial, so I haven't had much after-school writing time. But I HAVE been working on later parts of this story during school... y'know, piecing it all together and stuff. It's coming together nicely!

Here's "The Gulag" Part 1. I think I'll have a Ghost note in the middle of Part 1/Part 2... so expect another chapter maybe this weekend. MAYBE. Like always, I can't guarantee anything. Schedules change.

The song that Mckinley and MacTavish listen to is called "Bang Bang" by K'naan feat. Adam Levine. _**I DO NOT OWN THIS SONG, THE LYRICS, THE MELODY, OR ANYTHING PERTAINING TO THE SONG. GOT IT?**_

Sorry, but I had a problem with someone saying I'd not given credit to a song in a story I'd posted a while ago, and he threatened to report me. GRR... so that story's long gone...

Please enjoy this chapter! **REVIEW PLEASE!**

I want at least 5 reviews, please! Then I'll work EXTRA hard on the next chapter! I promise!

Oh, and YES. I am planning on a sequel ^_^

_**ecto1B**_

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Chapter 10:

**"The Gulag" **_PART 1_

**Day 5 – 7:42:54**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

"_Phase two"… darn you to heck. I'm fricken' freezing my butt off because of you. Why couldn't the mission end back at the oilrig? I could use a bit of sleep…_

Mckinley massaged her temples and uttered an aggravated sigh. Their chopper was flying through a heavy settlement of fog that was oddly making her sleepy. The once gorgeous morning had vanished behind the blanket of white, and for the past two hours she'd been sitting next to MacTavish, practically doing nothing. Thankfully, she'd already discovered her iPod Touch a while ago, so she managed to pass the time listening to that. MacTavish glanced over at every song she played and continued to ask why she was listening to such old music.

"Lady Gaga?" he chuckled. "You _still_ listen to her?"

Mckinley pulled the iPod to her chest, offended. "What's wrong with me listening to 'Alejandro' every now and then? It's so catchy!"

He shrugged. "I dunno. It's just that she hasn't had any chart-toppers since that song came out in 2009. No one I know listens to her anymore."

She scoffed. "Yeah, well maybe everyone you know are _men in the army_ who'd prefer a good _Coheed and Cambria_ song over _Lady Gaga_." Mckinley smiled, content with her fiery comeback.

Her captain nodded his head and grinned. "Yeah, you're probably right."

With another sigh, Mckinley turned back to her iPod. She pressed the side button to lower the volume slightly, then scrolled back to her list of artists. Biting her lower lip in deep consideration, she lightly flicked against the small screen and found what she was looking for: K'naan featuring Adam Levine. Her pointer finger pressed on the song title, "Bang Bang," and a catchy reggae-like intro blasted through her earbuds. Quickly, she traced the point where the music was and moved it to the chorus of the song. MacTavish jerked a bit at the noisy music, but then receded back to his normal position after realizing what the abrupt sound was.

_She was walkin' around with a loaded shotgun,_

_Ready to fire me a hot one._

_It went bang, bang, bang, bang,_

_Straight through my heart. (Straight through my heart!)_

_Although I could have walked away,_

_I stood my ground and let her spray!_

_She shot me, she shot me,_

_Bang, bang! She shot me!_

_She shot me, she shot me,_

_Bang, bang! She shot me!_

"What song is that?" MacTavish asked, yanking her right headphone from her ear and popping into his to listen in. "It's pretty good."

Mckinley, not wanting to miss the next verse by answering, simply pointed at the song title at the top of the screen. He thanked her and began bobbing his head to the music as well.

_Testing, testing!_

_Things just got more interesting!_

_She's dressed in a vest pin, double-breasted holster,_

_A very Western toaster,_

_She ain't nothing Kosher._

_Ah, she lets me closer._

_Hotter than a pepper-crusted Samosa._

_While I try to keep my composure._

Suddenly, MacTavish chucked the earbud from his ear and put his radio headset back on. Apparently someone was communicating with him, and he was missing their message. Mckinley shut her iPod off and wrapped the headphones back up, watching MacTavish and waiting to hear what Command was saying.

A few moments later, MacTavish glanced over at her.

"Thirty seconds," he confirmed seriously. All the playfulness had evaporated abruptly from underneath his voice—substituted by a slab of harsh somberness. Now, his tone proved that it was time to get back into the right state of mind. No more joking around. This mission's success was crucial to taking the upper hand in the war, and his stern tone confirmed that.

The fog was clearing up progressively, but Mckinley still had to squint to make out the three other Little Bird helicopters flying beside them. She tried to spot Ghost on one of the choppers, but it was no use. The fog was _still_ too thick.

_Ramirez!_ she thought, suppressing a laugh._ Get rid of the fog with this portable fan!_

A voice came through her radio. She listened in for any crucial information. They'd be approaching the gulag soon, and she wanted to be prepared for anything that could happen. As she listened, Mckinley tucked the iPod back into her pocket for later.

"Hornet Two-One, this is Jester One-One, flight of two F-15s, four HARMs for the section. Standby for SEAD, over."

_Well—whatever that meant—it doesn't seem to apply to me. I'm pretty sure my name isn't Hornet Two-One…_

"Solid copy, Jester," Hornet Two-One replied. "Go get 'em."

A lumbering coal-grey mountain loomed to the right of their chopper, and then a small icy cape materialized from behind the fog. A small cluster of buildings surrounded by snow-covered trees appeared atop the cape, and Mckinley could've sworn something was supposed to happen right about then to the houses… something significant… because weren't they SAM sites?

Her answer was the sight creeping below her. Two sleek F-15 fighter jets with the skull-and-crossbones logo on the fins glided below the pack of four choppers.

"Good tone, good tone. Fox Three, Fox Three."

_Huh? Repetitive much?_

And then, as the horde of air vehicles neared the cape, the fighter jets soared ahead of them and opened fire, sending rockets with wispy white tails spiral towards the houses. And, with a cloud of grey smoke, the tiny concentration of Russian buildings had been beat down to small stubs.

"Good kill. Good kill. Hornet Two-One, you're clear all the way. Good luck."

_Dude, why do you repeat the same thing over and over?_

The helicopters sailed over the smoke-ridden cape and across another small stretch of icy water before the huge circular brick building came into view. It was enormous, built like a castle and prepared for even the largest of sieges. Smog poured from the top of it, giving it the appearance of a chimney. It brewed on the horizon and dominated the surrounding area with its presence. Truthfully, the Russians had picked the _perfect_ place to hide Prisoner 627. It had a real dungeon, multiple turrets, thick walls and places to house SAM sites. They weren't expecting an attack anytime soon. But one was coming. And the enemy had _no_ idea.

"That building is _huge_," Mckinley remarked to MacTavish. He nodded.

"_And_ it's a bloody maze inside," he said back.

"Hornet Two-One copies."

"Hornet Two-Two copies all."

"Hornet Two-Three, solid copy."

Mckinley lowered the volume on her radio. All this random chatter was boring. And the sight of the gulag in the distance only made her heart pump faster, completely ready to get going with the siege. To liberate some of her extra energy, Mckinley waved at the soldiers on the nearest Little Bird and gave them a thumbs up. In response, the three soldiers pumped their fists and whooped joyously. It seemed everyone was anxious to get on the ground and start shooting.

The three other helicopters hovered closer to the ice-covered waters and led the way towards the gulag. One chopper flew in closer, readying its guns for a quick barrage on the command tower.

"Guns guns guns," said Hornet Two-Two. Then, most annoyingly, he repeated the same thing again for emphasis while the chopper opened fire on the tower. Mckinley watched as the glass windows shattered instantly, careening down onto the multiple Russian soldiers lining the gulag's walls. A huge roar of the Russian men erupted in bafflement and rage. Unlatching the sniper rifle from her back, Mckinley loaded in a new clip and readied herself for part one of the mission. She tuned her radio back to the frequency Ghost was on and tightened her grip on the rifle's handle.

In response, MacTavish began speaking into the radio. "All snipers—this is MacTavish. Standby to engage."

The helicopter swerved over a fair distance away from one of the gulag's turrets. A handful of men and a SAM hidden by a blue tarp were positioned there, but Mckinley knew the men would have no time to use the missiles against their siege. The 141 was too swift for them.

"Stabilize!" MacTavish ordered the chopper pilot.

"Roger."

"All snipers—cleared to engage."

As the chopper came to a halt in midair, Mckinley glanced down the sights and matched the criss-cross target onto one of the men. A simple click of the trigger, and he was down. Four more times, and the stone tower was officially unoccupied.

"Clear, Captain," she informed him smoothly, lowering the rifle. If she was really good at anything in Modern Warfare 2, it was sniping. She could literally sit all day in a high location on one of the multiplayer maps and take out the other players one by one. And, for some odd reason, the actually-holding-a-real-live-gun part of this seemed to have no difference. Her sniping was still top-notch.

"Nice shooting, Private." MacTavish dipped his head and itched at his Adam's Apple. "Shift right!" he told the pilot.

"Shifting…"

Once more, the helicopter flew over to the next tower. Mckinley took the chance to reload her gun. Her hands fumbled at the excitement of one more sniping point, but finally she managed to shove the clip into its place.

"Stabilize," said MacTavish.

"Ready."

As easily as before, Mckinley's sniper rifle downed all five of the Russian soldiers dwelling on the rooftop, but not before one removed the tarp from the SAM. They were all down before the unearthed SAM could be utilized.

"Again, perfect accuracy," MacTavish commented proudly. "You ever done in-air sniping before now?"

She toyed with her answer… for she hadn't _really_ done it before… only in the game. Did it make a difference?

"In a way, yes," she replied evasively. MacTavish shrugged at her curious answer and ordered the pilot to shift again.

"Shifting," the pilot said monotonously as one of the fighter jets bombed the taller of the gulag's towers. Rock and debris showered the air, and she shielded her eyes from the flurry of dust swamping the chopper.

"I see four hostiles on the next tower!" declared MacTavish.

But instead of another "stop, shoot, move on," procedure, a F-15 appeared out of nowhere and fired rapidly on the top of the turret. Then, the fighter jet sped directly above their chopper, causing them to waver off course a bit. A loud beeping noise screamed from the cockpit of the Little Bird. Mckinley grabbed the side of the helicopter and held tightly, hoping not to fall off.

"Hang on!" The pilot scrambled to stabilize the craft before it lost too much altitude. Mckinley shoved her hand over her mouth to keep from yelling. Fear drenched her pores. If they didn't recover from their stumble, they might crash into the rocky land below, and that surely wouldn't be good.

When the helicopter began rising upward again towards the top of the gulag, Mckinley felt a wave of relief swallow up the fear inside her, and then a touch of excitement was hinted to the mix. All were part of her recipe to a successful mission. Though it was starting a bit rough, Mckinley had played the level countless times, and knew that Captain Price was waiting for the 141 to rescue him, no matter how long it took.

MacTavish looked and sounded pissed. "Shepherd!" he hollered into the radio at the General (The one Mckinley was anxious to meet… only so she could pummel him to the ground with an AK-47 and a few frag grenades.) "Get those fighters to cease fire immediately! That was way too close!"

She snorted. "You got that right."

"I'll try to buy you some time," replied Shepherd, and Mckinley stifled a ferocious growl. "One man in a gulag doesn't mean much to the Navy at this point."

The helicopter zoomed through the cloud of settling smoke and over the walls of the gulag. They headed for the landing zone in the center to meet up with the other groups. And then they'd take the gulag and find Prisoner 627.

"Bloody Yanks!" Ghost said roughly through the radio. "I thought they were the good guys!"

"Ghost—cut the chatter. Stay frosty." MacTavish handed Mckinley another gun from inside the chopper: a M4A1 Carbine with a highly efficient Red Dot Sight ability and a Grenade Launcher add-on. She scraped away a smudge of dirt from the gun's barrel and hooked the sniper rifle onto her belt.

All four choppers landed inside the gulag to deploy its soldiers. Once it touched the landing pad, Mckinley leapt from her seat and onto solid ground—the only solid ground she'd touched in over two hours.

"Go! Go! Go!" her captain rushed ahead of the huge group of soldiers to lead the way. Mckinley stayed at his heels and obeyed every order that was flung at her. The barrage of enemy fire was relentless and staggering, but Mckinley found shelter behind an unused SAM site and began stepping out every now and then to take a heavy pounding on the second floors of the gulag. Along another edge of the wall sat a barricade of sandbags, with a small band of Russians popping up from behind them. One man had such good aim, a snipe of his skimmed her elbow as she crouched behind the SAM. Mckinley cried out in pain and immediately applied pressure to the injury.

"You okay?" a husky voice snarled up underneath a British accent asked. She whipped around to see the skull balaclava gazing at her.

"Fine," she lied, pressing her lips together into a tight, painful line. "Considering this is the third attack on my arm in 48 hours, I'm doing great."

Ghost didn't answer at first. Instead, he jumped out from the cover of the SAM and fired a brisk round of gunfire at the men behind the sandbags. Then, he stepped back next to her.

"Well, I've got your back against these bloody tangos. Just say my name and I'll be giving you covering fire in seconds. We're gonna get this mission done fast." He retreated back nearby MacTavish. "Hang in there, Queen."

"Thanks, Ghost!"

With a newfound sense of priority, Mckinley began taking out hostiles faster than she ever had in any previous level. All of her shots were precise, calculated, and simple. She tried not wasting any bullets, because the fear of what was down in the dungeon levels of the gulag leaned over her like an eerie shadow. What if she ran out of bullets and couldn't find any extra clips to reload with? Every shot had to count in some way, or she'd label herself useless.

One of their Little Birds began hovering slightly above the team. Mckinley glanced up in confusion, wondering why the chopper had not gone with the others to continue the assault on the outer walls.

"Two-One in position for gun run," the pilot announced over the radio.

_Oh. So __**that's**__ what it's doing here… gotcha…_

She spotted MacTavish take cover behind a small concrete barrier. "Copy Two-One, lasing target on the second floor!" He directed his Red Dot Sight on top of the sandbag wall for the chopper to see. The rest of the squad found cover behind other objects, and soon, Mckinley was the only one out in the open.

"Queen!" Ghost called immediately. "Get outta the way! He's gonna start firing near your position!"

"Two-One copies, got a tally on six tangos, inbound hot," came the radio chatter, and the helicopter lowered itself in the sky to get closer to the target. Mckinley noticed that Ghost was right; she was almost underneath the chopper's intended target. Wiping the sweat from her forehead, Mckinley dashed as fast as she could away from the wall just as the chopper opened fire on the hostiles. She dove behind the small barrier MacTavish was behind, breathing heavily, and crouched just low enough so she couldn't be hit. One of the other 141 members, Jayhawk, picked up her gun when she dropped it and reloaded it for her. She breathed out a thank you, and then looked towards MacTavish.

"_Are you bloody daft_?" he scolded seriously. Mckinley recoiled. "You just could've been killed! Didn't you hear the radio?"

She choked back a response. "I… I did, sir, but I was focusing on taking out the hostiles… I'm sorry—"

MacTavish patted her shoulder, trying to be earnest, but at the same time, understanding. He released a breath to calm his tension. "No need to be sorry, Queen. I just don't want you blasted to pieces by one of our own!"

Sighing, she nodded reluctantly and picked her gun up from the ground. The enemy gunfire was slowly depleting as the 141 shot more and more of them down. Soon, they'd have a clear pathway into the gulag's lower levels.

####################

Minutes later, Mckinley and the others were even closer to the entrance. They'd done a quick maneuver that threw the enemy off-guard, and now the hallway leading to the dungeon was in sight.

"The entrance is up ahead!" MacTavish cried. "Keep moving!"

Feeling the snow crunch beneath her combat boots and hearing the yells and explosions from the outer walls, Mckinley was strangely at peace. She knew that for the next half an hour she'd be crouching inside dark, damp tunnels that would create the feeling of claustrophobia. And to be out in the middle of Russia in the sting of the morning was an oddly serene feeling compared to what they were about to experience.

_Hang on… _she thought, pausing to take a breather behind a wall. Something had struck odd within her train of thought. _This is "The Gulag…" which means I only have this level and then "Contingency" with Ghost and MacTavish until…_ She gulped and massaged her temples, not realizing that she was slowly sliding down to a seated position. _Until "Loose Ends…"_

"Queen?"

_Oh my freaking goodness… this isn't __**fair**__! Only two more levels until—_

"_Queen!_"

Startled from those horrific, Mckinley let her eyes focus on the figure standing above her. It was Ghost again, trying to get her attention. He was waving his gloved hands in front of her face wildly.

"Come back to earth, Queenie!" called MacTavish from the other end of the yard where the underground stairwell began. "We're oscar mike! Prisoner 627 won't save himself!"

Ghost held out a hand to her in a kind gesture. "C'mon, Queen. I don't think you wanna hear any of Soap's famous lectures." He chuckled softly. "I'll help you up."

_I didn't even know I was sitting on the ground!_

But if it meant holding Ghost's hand, she was all for it. Cautiously, Mckinley took the mysterious soldier's hand and let him pull her up from the ground. His grip was hard and his hand was warm. A tingle of butterflies fluttered up and down her trachea in a gentle pattern, reacting to his hand clutching hers. This sensational feeling was brand new to her. Though she had held plenty of boys' hands in the past, this version of the awkward puppy love she'd felt was totally unique. During other relationships, she'd merely wanted to chat with the boy all night on Facebook about their likes and dislikes. It was never an "I'd take a bullet for you" situation; never an "I can never be complete without you in my life" kind of feeling. No, this was raw desire. Desire that was constantly mutating in secret behind her ribcage into fiery lust. There was only one problem. Did Ghost feel the same? Was this passion she felt for a character inside a video game all for nothing?

"Uh…" Ghost coughed and motioned with his head at their hands, disrupting her from pondering anything more. "Are… you okay?"

When it dawned on her that she hadn't let go of his hand, Mckinley turned a blazing shade of red. She released his hand and brought it back to her M4A1 Carbine. The two of them shuffled their feet awkwardly.

"C'mon, you two," MacTavish hollered again. "We're oscar mike!"

Smiling up at the masked man and making a bold move—winking slightly flirtatiously at him—Mckinley rushed to stand near MacTavish before she saw Ghost act surprised at her random motion. She didn't want him being able to tell that she could finally admit that she was incapable of remaining away from him; in other words, Mckinley was in love.


	11. Contemplation

Hey hey hey hey hey! YES a new chapter. I'm amazing~

First off, Happy B-Day **Scented Of Roses**! When you commented and said it was your B-day, I thought that hmm... maybe she'd like me to dedicate a chapter to her... so The Gulag Pt. 2 will be written in your honor! ^_^ YAY!

Okay, so this chapter is pretty basic. It's Mckinley informing you guys on her situation... yes, I neglected having her mention anything really IMPORTANT about her growing feelings for Ghost... I thought that doing so would just drag it on... and I'd prefer to have this chapter just be about her reasons why she doesn't want to enter the gulag, but has to. I really hope you all enjoy this! And please, spend 2 minutes of your time and just **REVIEW! **It's really appreciated. It makes me very confident, and I write much better and faster.

Oh, and I have found Queen/Ghost themes! _"Love the Way You Lie"_ by Eminem feat. Rihanna and _"Beautiful Disaster"_ by Kelly Clarkson. Both really good songs! OOO and Love the Way You Lie gives you a hint as to what's to come in future chapters! Beautiful Disaster sorta does, too...

Okay... that's it! Please enjoy the chapter!

**_ecto1B_**

* * *

Chapter 11:

_Contemplation_

_Mckinley Front_

**There are a few reasons why I didn't want to go into the gulag. On the other hand, there are also a few reasons why I had to go into the gulag.**

**Reason 1 for not wanting to enter the gulag: It was really freaking dark in there. I mean, yeah, I've been in dark rooms before. But being a mile underground (I'm exaggerating, obviously) in pitch darkness is not the greatest thing to experience. Besides, who knew what could be lurking in the shadows?**

**Reason 2: Shepherd was making us go. I already knew how much of a SOB he was, unlike the rest of Task Force 141, thanks to my Modern Warfare experience. So, I knew that at the soonest chance I could get, I would be pounding Desert Eagle bullets into his skull. Hey, don't blame me for hating him so much. I had to endure watching him hammer bullets into Roach and Ghost in "Loose Ends." He deserves to be punished, and I don't think MacTavish's knife-throw to his eye was enough. My opinion, naturally.**

**Reason 3: I was fricken' tired from all the running around on the oilrig. All I wanted was to take a nap. A simple nap is all I wanted! I wouldn't even care if it was on the floor. I just wanted to shut my eyes for an hour or two and let my body replenish itself.**

**Now, the reasons why I knew I had to go into the gulag.**

**Reason 1: Captain Price was inside, waiting for us to rescue him. Now, I'd never played Call of Duty 4 before trying MW2, so I really had no idea who he was… but he was MacTavish's friend, and I owed it to him. I mean, c'mon. MacTavish was out there whipping his own sorry butt to keep me safe. The least I could to was go along with him to save his friend.**

**Reason 2: Shepherd was making us go. Enough said. Apparently what he says, goes. Whatever.**

**Reason 3: It was an order. And I'm not the kind of person who will go AWOL from a mission… okay, so I'm a senior in high school who's never been given a mission equivalent to that of Task Force 141… but I really wanted to avoid making a bad name for myself while alongside these guys. I'd also promised myself in the past that if I ever joined the army, I wouldn't ever abandon my men. Ever.**

**Right about now, you're probably wondering if I'd forgotten my real, normal life and replaced it with this psychopathic virtual one where I get shot at by homicidal maniacs. Yeah… no. I didn't forget about my family, or my friends, or my last year in high school. Don't worry, those thoughts were still chugging away in the back of my mind. But I have to admit that I was all for being "Queen" for the rest of my life and never hearing the name "Mckinley" ever again. I mean, the real Queen wasn't showing up at all, and all the men believed I was her. Heck, we even looked the same! (Rocket showed me a picture of Task Force 141 from a few months before I was there, and the real Queen was practically my twin, only older.) I could continue my life as Queen and never go back to the real world… couldn't I?**

**I still wondered what would happen if she turned up… what would happen to me? What would Task Force 141 do to me?**

**More importantly, would MacTavish, Ghost, and the rest of the team forgive me?**

**Those were boundaries I wasn't sure I'd like the outcome of if I decided to cross them.**


	12. The Gulag Pt 2

Wow, aren't I like the coolest person ever? I wrote this chapter in two days... Probably about 1/5th of it yesterday and the rest took about 4 hours on the computer today. So much editing... so much adding... so much re-reading... oww, my brain hurts, and I have school tomorrow!

If you can't tell, The Gulag level is so fricken' long, I had to split it into 3 parts. Here's the second, and maybe expect the third sometime next weekend.

Okay, so I'm gonna start asking questions at the top of my chapters that I'd like to get responses to in the reviews :D

**Question of the Chapter **(I couldn't really say "of the day" now could I?) **What are your favorite Ghost quotes/catchphrases?**

_Oh, and some advice to my fellow readers out there: When you're writing, I HIGHLY suggest listening to classical music. HIGHLY SUGGEST. I listened to the Sherlock Holmes soundtrack when writing this, and MAN it helped a ton._

_Disclaimer: _**I DO NOT OWN THE MUSIC MENTIONED IN THIS CHAPTER. I DID NOT WRITE THE LYRICS, CREATE THE TITLE, SING THE SONG, PLAY THE GUITAR, ANYTHING. I just love the song!**

Thanks, and please review!

**_ecto1B_**

* * *

_**This chapter is dedicated to Scented Of Roses, because it was her birthday! ~~YAY!~~ *Ghost and MacTavish hand you balloons and shoot confetti on your head***_

Chapter 12:

**"The Gulag" **_PART 2_

**Day 5 – 7:56:17**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Darkness crept into her eyes like a slithering serpent: taking its time to swallow her courage whole. She blinked her eyes and patted down the goosebumps on her arms before anyone noticed. Mckinley was not about to let another phobia of hers—much more insignificant than her hydrophobia—get in the way of completing this mission. She usually wasn't claustrophobic, but in such a dark, damp tunnel, things like claustrophobia seemed to pop out of nowhere and nibble away at any lingering common sense.

"This is it!" Confidence gleamed in MacTavish's voice. She wished she felt the same. "We go in, grab Prisoner 627, and get out! Check your corners! Let's go!"

The team made their way down the first set of stairs, then turned a corner in the dark hallway to find a substantial amount of Russians waiting for them. Mckinley took the time to load her grenade launcher. It would definitely come in handy when multiple hostiles crowded a single area, like now.

She fired a single grenade, and as it skimmed the concrete floor, it went up in a massive explosion. The five hostiles standing around it flew backwards to clear the way. One of the 141 soldiers, Worm, made a quick thumbs up in her direction.

"Again!" he said. "I'll cover you!"

With fast fingers, Mckinley reloaded the launcher. The dark-skinned man executed a meticulous sweep with his gun as covering fire. And once she'd finished, he backed up so she could proceed.

"That's the control room up ahead!" Ghost pointed over Mckinley's shoulder at the room the Russians were protecting. It was full to the brim of old monitors and technical equipment. "I can use it to find the prisoner!"

"Sounds like a plan!" Mckinley responded, firing the next grenade. Four more men went down. Then, hoping not to harm any of the machines Ghost was intent on utilizing, she switched back to her M4A1 Carbine and took out the last two hostiles to fully clear the room. Ghost dashed past her and to a desk leaning against the wall. He grabbed a metal chair and sat down at a small laptop, where he began crunching numbers at breakneck speed. "I'll tap into their system and look for the prisoner! It's gonna take some time!"

MacTavish tapped his radio headset. "Copy that! Queen, we're on cell duty! Follow me!" He started down a set of metal stairs towards the cell blocks.

"B-but…" she looked over longingly at Ghost, whose back was to her as he grinded away at the computer. "'Tavish, why don't I stay here and—"

MacTavish shook his head firmly. "No, Queen, I need you down in the cell blocks. Ghost will be fine up here with Jester and Bearcat. Right now, we're needed on the lower floors." He peered at her with a meaningful gaze. "There's no time to argue with me, Queen. We have to move."

She sighed. "Fine."

The group—minus Ghost, Jester and Bearcat—advanced down the metal staircase and to the first level of cells lining a round rotunda. There were metal gates everywhere to prevent breakouts… but as Mckinley glanced inside a few cells, there wasn't any inmates to occupy them. Then a detachment of foot-mobiles appeared out of nowhere and began to lay down heavy gunfire upon the 141 soldiers. Once again, Mckinley launched a grenade at the enemy's feet, and most were terminated. They went on, checking each cell as they passed for any signs of Prisoner 627.

"All right, I'm patched in," Ghost said through the radio. "I'm tracking your progress on the security cameras."

"Copy that!" MacTavish responded. "Do you have the location of Prisoner 627?"

"Negative, but I've got a searchlight tracking hostiles on your floor. That should make your job easier."

MacTavish switched to his second gun and began pounding the living daylights out of the nearest Russian. "Roger that! Stay sharp! The prisoner may be in one of these cells!"

A huge beam of light illuminated the area in front of them and revealed three Russians standing out in the open. Mckinley had to dive behind a lone crate on the floor to avoid the explosion of one of their frag grenades. Then, she vaulted back to her feet and battered the thrower with a rush of ammo. He yelped in pain and fell backwards onto the hard stone floor.

"That searchlight helps a ton, Ghost." She wiped her brow. "Thanks."

Ghost began to answer, but MacTavish cut him off. It seemed like the team had just encountered a very complicated problem. A pair of thick metal security doors obstructed their way down the hall, preventing them from checking the rest of the cells on that floor and also making them officially stuck.

"Ghost, we've hit a security door! Get it open!"

"_Please_," Queen added for him. Then, under her breath, she muttered, "Rude, much, Soap?"

Ghost apparently didn't hear her tart remark. "Workin' on it… this hardware is _ancient_!"

Mckinley remembered how long she'd swooned the first time she'd played this level. The way Ghost said that line—specifically the word "ancient"—was like the equivalent of when Arnold Schwarzenegger murmured "I'll be back" or when Gerard Butler heroically declared that "THIS IS SPARTA!" It was a line that had stuck in her head as one of the sexiest ways to sound completely exasperated, i.e., to sound completely like Ghost.

Immediately after Ghost hollered her favorite line, an ear-piercing beep sounded through the cell blocks. The security door farthest from them slid open wide… and the one closest to them remained still.

"Aww, hell!" Mckinley exclaimed, ducking to avoid enemy fire. "Wrong door!"

"Ghost, you opened the wrong door!" MacTavish echoed.

Ghost grumbled inwardly, though he was easy to hear over the radio. "Roger, standby…"

"Let's pick up the pace, Ghostie!" she said, taking out a hostile that was aiming at MacTavish's head. "We're getting hammered!"

"Got it!" Ghost declared suddenly, and the team watched as the door opened for them. The only things that could make the moment more magical would be a lone spotlight shining on the door and bursts of "Hallelujah" erupting from a church choir nearby.

_That would be thoroughly entertaining._

"That's better!" MacTavish obviously hoped Ghost would interpret that as a "thank you," though Mckinley knew the captain could benefit on a few lessons about good manners. What, was he absent on that day of kindergarten? "Let's go!" They dashed past the two doorways and into the next portion of the cell blocks.

"I'm hit!" one of the 141 soldiers cried behind her, collapsing onto the ground. Another bullet ricocheted into his chest, and he fell silent instantly. Mckinley ran to check his pulse. When she kneeled next to him, she noticed the blood oozing from a hole in his chest. Desperately, she felt for a pulse on his neck. Nothing. She patted the man's forehead in defeat and stood once more. Now it was her, MacTavish, Jayhawk and Worm. How were they going to do this a man short? It would be impossible now… right?

A thought hit her like a high-speed train. In the past, Mckinley had always been heavily inspired by music. Whenever she was completing a project, or carrying out a task—such as cleaning her room—blasting music made the job easier and more fun. What if she played music for the squad? Would it help them get this mission over faster? Would it restore all that fading optimism she was beginning to lack?

Mckinley hurriedly crouched behind another crate and withdrew her iPod Touch from its pocket in her supply vest. Then, she found a random connector cord in another pocket and plugged her iPod's speakers into the radio.

"Heads up, guys," she alerted them all, including Ghost and the two 141 soldiers with him in the control room. "I'm about to improvise a bit, here."

"How so?" MacTavish asked in a loud voice.

She scrolled down the song list and tapped on "Back In Black" by AC/DC—ultimately one of the greatest rock 'n' roll songs in existence. She thought the lyrics and the thundering guitars would pump extra adrenaline into her teammate's veins. And, it also related to them, since they all were wearing those uncomfortable black wetsuits from the oilrig mission.

As the intro erupted from everyone's radios, MacTavish, Worm and Jayhawk flinched from the abrupt sound. But soon, Jayhawk and Worm were bobbing their heads to the beat and getting themselves into a steady groove. MacTavish was obviously trying to ignore the blaring music in his ear, but eventually he, too, was mouthing the lyrics. And soon, the four of them were all taking out the foot-mobiles with no delay to the pounding guitars and screaming vocals.

_Back in black, _

_I hit the sack,_

_It's been too long. I'm glad to be back._

_Yes, I'm let loose, _

_From the noose_

_That's kept me hanging around._

_I'm just looking at the sky_

'_Cause it's gettin' me high._

_Forget the hearse, 'cause I'll never die!_

_I got nine lives_

_Cat's eyes_

_Abusin' every one of them and running wild!_

'_Cause I'm back!_

_Yes, I'm back!_

_Well… I'm back now,_

_Yes, I'm back! _

_Well I'm back… back._

_Well, I'm back in black! _

_YES, I'M BACK IN BLACK!_

"Uh… did we somehow end up on a public radio frequency?" Ghost asked over the music; he was barely audible as the music grew louder. Mckinley laughed and followed her lip-syncing teammates through the rest of the corridor. Now, with the music playing, the Russians acted a bit disoriented and were easier to eliminate than ever before. Had they ever been exposed to the pure awesomeness that was AC/DC? Apparently not.

After the group checked a few more cells, MacTavish glanced behind him and motioned for Mckinley to turn the music down a notch. She did so, bringing it to a level that was still powerful, but quiet enough for MacTavish to communicate with Ghost.

"No, it's just Queen who's playing the music," he informed his Lieutenant as he peered into another cell. "Talk to me, Ghost—these cells are deserted!"

"Got it! Prisoner 627's been transferred to the east wing!" _Gee, Ghost. Couldn't you have told us that a little bit earlier?_ "Head through the armory in the center—that's the fastest way there." Another security door in their path opened to reveal another metal staircase leading down into a small room. Positioned in the very center of the huge circular room, it was a very bad place to defend oneself in. But if this was the quickest way to Prisoner 627… so be it.

"See anything you like?" MacTavish asked her playfully, exchanging one of his guns for one with a full clip. Mckinley wanted to trade her sniper for the classic AK-47—the weapon she knew she was destined to shoot Shepherd with. (He'd killed Roach and Ghost with a small hand pistol… so she'd just get a bigger gun. Take _that_, you SOB.) But the riot shield propped in the corner looked ever so tempting. Letting her eyes linger on the AK-47 for a few seconds, Mckinley dropped the sniper rifle and picked up the riot shield, hooking it on her back. The music still blared from the radios… but now was the time for a different song. Hastily, Mckinley scrolled back through her music and tried to find a good ambush song—which was about to happen to them any second now.

"Hey 'Tavish, any music suggestions?" she asked her captain. He scrunched up his face in deep thought.

"Aerosmith?" he offered, rolling his new gun in his hands.

She nodded. "Perfect."

Aerosmith's hit, "Walk This Way," burst through the radio speakers with a flashy drum intro. Worm pumped his fist and began using his gun as a makeshift guitar when one of the most famous guitar riffs of all time came on. Jayhawk made the "rock on" symbol with his hand and tossed it up and down when the chorus came.

Then, the volume somehow lowered itself without Mckinley touching it. Ghost's panic-stricken voice replaced it.

_He's so smart, he's found a way to change the volume on my iPod without even being near it. Wow. _

"Bad news, mate," Ghost began. _Oh gosh, what is it this time?_ "I'm tracking three…"—he paused, but only for a second—"no, four hostile squads converging on your position!"

Russian yells bounced off the walls around them. Putting a hand to her chest, Mckinley gulped. There was a _lot_ of yelling. _Four_ hostile squads were coming… a true firefight was on the horizon. Carefully, Mckinley reached over her shoulder and grasped the handle of the riot shield. She pulled it over her head and then clipped her M4A1 Carbine to her belt. During an ambush, a riot shield would definitely come in handy and be more effective than a gun.

"I can hear them coming…" Mckinley whispered.

"Let's go. We're too exposed," MacTavish murmured in reply. The group hurried to the back of the armory where another security door remained locked. The big red light above the door began burning into the back of Mckinley's skull, so she glanced away. Around them, hostiles were mobilizing…

_The term "exposed", my good man, is an understatement. We should just paint big red and white targets on our backs. That's what we are. Easy targets._

**BEEP!**

The door began opening. Jayhawk, Worm and MacTavish crowded around it, anxious to leave. But Mckinley, who was the only one holding a riot shield,—and definitely the only one in her group who'd ever played this level before (I mean, seriously. If you somehow thought that MacTavish was a Modern Warfare 2 player, you're really not up to par, are you? What's his gamertag? SoapMan94?)—knew that the door wouldn't be opening _quite_ just yet. MacTavish would be getting another kindergarten lesson today: _patience_.

Just as she imagined, the door stopped opening midway and began sparking wildly. The red light changed to blue, but still the door wouldn't budge. She sighed and found a safe position along the armory walls to crouch. Eventually, the three men would be joining her. She brought the music volume back up a bit to block out the Russian shouting and tried to relax.

"_Bloody hell_!" Ghost roared. Mckinley swooned again. **Sexy Ghost Quote #2 pinpointed. **"They've locked it from the hard-line. I'll have to run a bypass!"

"Too late! They're already here!" MacTavish leapt out of the way of a spot of gunfire that almost skimmed his shoulder. Hostiles surrounded them on all sides of the armory. They had Red Dot Sights as well, and Mckinley watched in horror as multiple red lasers scoured over her riot shield. Her eyes grew wide when four more lasers joined the dozen, tearing into the protective shield with relentless gunfire.

_This is just a video game. This is just a video game. They can't hurt me. This is just a video game. _

"Be advised—you've got more tangos headed your way!" Ghost warned them.

"Thanks for the info, Ghost!" Mckinley said hotly. She curled herself into the fetal position behind the riot shield when MacTavish suggested to Worm and Jayhawk to use one. It would give them "more cover" as he put it.

Hostiles swarmed from every side. Laser pointers filled the air, and "Walk This Way" being played even louder was the only way to quiet the enemies' obnoxious battle cries. Mckinley was scared. She felt like the people in that Green Day "21 Guns" music video, dodging random gunfire that burst out of nowhere. Now she could watch that video and relate to it.

This definitely wasn't her first battle in the virtual world, and Mckinley prayed to God that it wasn't her last, either.


	13. Rumors

Hey everyone! OMG I know! It's Thursday and I have a chapter up! ^_^ This chapter is from Ghostie's point of view... and OOOOOOOOOO you get to find out a bit about the real Queen!

Oh, as a heads up: **I might have to change the rating of this story to M soon... yeah...** In truth, my friend **Kimi 4 Vocaloids **gave me an idea for a part coming up... yeah... it'll be my very first time writing something like it, so I don't know... hmm... don't worry, I'll warn you guys ahead of time before it comes up.

So... what else do I need to say... hmm... uh... expect the next chapter, The Gulag Pt. 3, some time this weekend...

OMG if you need another dose of MW2, check out **Emily 'Gadget' Robins**'s story called "Where It All Begins." It's soooooo amazing! I love it to death and 100000 x100 recommend it.

**PLEASE READ, ENJOY AND THEN REVIEW! ^.^**

**_ecto1B_**

* * *

Chapter 13:

Rumors

**Lt. Ghost**

_Without my skull balaclava concealing my face, I was nothing._

_Lieutenant Simon Riley had endured years of pain, agony, horror, torture, and trauma. Barely able to speak or walk after suffering so much and witnessing utter terror, Riley was transformed into a pale, walking corpse that dreamed of blood and grew mentally unstable with each passing day. The creature he became wasn't human at all. Lost in a psychopathic labyrinth of hate, Riley was consumed by the evils of his past and became what he is today. Ghost. Or, in this case, **me**._

_What Queen's existence did for me was staggering. I'd met her about three months after leaving the SAS and joining Task Force 141. She and I didn't get really communicate much, aside from occasionally deliberating about the mission at hand. I was responsible for most of her training at the 141's base, but still, we didn't seem to get along. She hung out with Archer, Meat, Worm… that group of men were more suited for her personality than I. But as the number of missions we had together grew rapidly, we became friendlier towards each other. We came to realize that we actually shared some of the same ideals about life, and we had very similar dispositions. Our family lives were both rather difficult, but we did our best to look past all the hardships that tried to envelop our lives. And then, as more similarities between her and I came into view, the two of us acted more like friends than comrades. She even invited Captain MacTavish and I to sit with her and the others during meals in the mess hall. Because of all she did to unite us, Task Force 141 became more like a family than a military company._

_I somewhat can recall the first day I met Queen._

_It had been a very humid day at the 141's base. MacTavish and I had just returned the previous evening from a rather strenuous mission, so the two of us were very tired. I tried sleeping in, but that was hard for one to do when Captain MacTavish is your friend. He woke me earlier than I'd intended to wake up, but with very important news. The brand new recruit had arrived._

_I got up, got dressed, and slid my skull balaclava and my glasses on. Then, I followed my captain to the mess hall to meet the new soldier. As we walked outside towards the mess, I'd begun contemplating about the new arrival. A back-talker? Loud-mouthed? Arrogant? I sighed. We didn't need any more stubborn men in the 141. We had too much already._

_But as MacTavish and I stepped inside the doors of the mess hall, my eyes grew wide behind my tinted shades. I felt my jaw drop and my heart pound away behind my ribs like a maniac. Instead of a burly unshaven man sitting at one of the tables, there was a lean, nice-looking woman with blood-red hair and wide grey eyes being overwhelmed by all of the 141 soldiers. She wore a cameo t-shirt, fading cargo pants and a pair of dirty brown combat boots. I was shocked at her presence; at first thinking she was a local who'd sweet-talked her way into the base to flirt with the men. But before I could approach the woman and interrogate her, MacTavish stopped me with a firm hand on my shoulder._

_"That's her," he said calmly, grinning. "Our newest addition to the team."_

_I was lucky to be wearing my skull mask. My jaw hadn't moved back into its normal position yet._

_"Sir, a **female** soldier in the 141?" I asked, still watching as the woman chatted with the men surrounding her. Her face gleamed with happiness, shining brightly on her pearly white teeth. "What experience does she have?"_

_"Sniping, mainly," MacTavish replied. "Very good at stealth, versatile in weapons choice, and proficient in carrying out tasks…"_

_I pressed my lips together into a tight line. "Faults?"_

_"Hydrophobia is one," he said. "And during multiple training exercises, she's been known to fail because she refused to leave a fallen comrade's side." He smirked. "Even on her exit exam, she came close to last because she was helping another soldier who'd broken his ankle on the course finish the exam." He paused for a moment to let his words sink in, then he cleared his throat. "The judging committee was ready to fail her."_

_I glanced sideways at my captain. "So why didn't they? She failed the test."_

_With a chuckle, MacTavish answered my question. "The head of the training camp believed that she fit the definition of the true, ideal soldier. She'd sacrificed a 'passing time' for the chance to help a friend. Apparently he admired that about her. So, she ran through the final course once more and—"_

_"**Again**?" I was stunned. Memories flooded back to me of the rough, inhumanely pressing course I'd completed to qualify for the SAS. Doing that sort of thing twice? I shuddered._

_"Yes, she was required to. But this time, she ran it alone so she wouldn't feel obliged to help other soldiers."_

_"She passed this time?"_

_"With flying colors."_

_I sucked in a breath. "How'd she end up with us?"_

_"She was part of the U.S. Army Rangers for a short period of time. Taught the new recruits how to snipe correctly."_

_"Why was she brought here to us?"_

_"Shepherd was opting to bring a few Rangers into our company. At first, she wasn't considered or even looked upon." MacTavish itched his scalp. "Then the Rangers suddenly handed her over to us, like she was a bomb or something. They wanted her gone."_

_"Why?"_

_"Some rare incident occurred." He smiled knowingly. "Well, **rumors** of an incident, that is."_

_"An **incident**?"_

_"Rumors circled that she and one of the Rangers—named Allen, I think—had an affair while doing some undercover work."_

_"**Proven** rumors?" I winced at the thought of some unpredictable, manipulating woman taking control of the soldiers. That wasn't acceptable. I'd rip off her head before I caught her snogging any of my men._

_"Allen confessed to being heavily attracted to her, but both denied any sort of affair between them. However, the Rangers weren't liking the bad publicity, so they quickly offered her to the 141. Shepherd wasn't concerned with the woman's background, and he accepted her into the team."_

_I motioned towards the woman with my head, noticing that every single one of the men had his eyes locked on her. "I think Shepherd should have considered the rumors after all."_

_MacTavish shook his head vigorously. "No, she's just talking with them." When I didn't say anything, he added, "Trust me, Ghost. I was just over there listening in to their conversation. She's telling them about that exit exam I told you about." He flashed me a knowing look. "Ghost, please try to accept her. I know you have trouble trusting new people. But she's one of us now."_

_Pursing my lips, I crossed my arms over my chest and leaned my shoulders back in a relaxed position. By then, I'd figured in my head that it would take me a while to get used to her presence—and then a while longer to learn to trust her. But frankly, from the moment I saw her, I knew that I had to be on my guard at all times. Women—in general—had never been my forte. And this woman, with her tumbling red hair and mysterious background, was surely dangerous._

_If you'd told me then that now, here inside a damp, dark gulag on the coast of Russia, that I'd be willing to take a bullet for that woman at any second of the day, I would've said you were crazy._


	14. The Gulag Pt 3

Man, this chapter is LONG. And it was HARD TO WRITE. All those crazy explosions and crap! I'm TIRED from just WRITING it. How tired do you think Mckinley is from EXPERIENCING IT?

**Scented Of Roses**: Yes... a lemon... expect a lemon. I'm kind of worried, because it'll be my very first lemon EVER, but I've done some reading here on FanFiction and I think I know what to do... Oh, you're question about Soap/MacTavish... well, I assumed Ghost knew his nickname, so that's why _he_ used it a bit. And Mckinley knows it because she's played MW2 and knows that his nickname is Soap. So hopefully that clears THAT up for you. :D

**OMG If this doesn't make you die laughing, I don't know what does. I found this posted beneath a random MW2 video:**

_Shepherd: Do you have the DSM?_

_Ghost: We've got it, sir!_

_Shepherd: Good, that's one less loose end._

_Roach: Oh yeah, I forgot! My shoe's untied! *bends down to tie shoe and dodges bullet and Ghost realizes Shepherd's bad and kills him*_

MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA That is for all you Roach Fangirls! ^_^ That definitely should've been how it ended!

**Question of the Chapter:** If you could say one thing to each member of Task Force 141 (Shepherd, MacTavish, Ghost, Price, etc.), what would you say? Answer in your review!

Thanks for reading and reviewing! I'll be checking all my awesome reviews ON MY NEW IPHONE 4 ^_^ so make sure you review!

**_Axella (ecto1B)_**

* * *

Chapter 14:

**"The Gulag" **_PART 3_

**Day 5 – 8:23:06**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**40 miles east of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

_What does fear smell like? _Mckinley wondered, pulling the riot shield closer to her body. The storm of gunfire nipping at the bulletproof glass hadn't managed to penetrate her defenses just yet, but by the looks of the battered shield, her time was just about up.

_Oh, I know. Fear smells like sparks of bullets ricocheting against the metal bars surrounding me. Fear smells like the assortment of guns and magazines sitting on the shelves behind me, collecting dust. Fear smells like MacTavish's major B.O. carrying from the other end of the armory. _She paused her thoughts and snatched a glance over at her C.O. _Ooo, well maybe it's just his B.O. I smell, then. not fear. Never mind._

Suddenly, one of the enemy's Red Dot Sights scraped across her eye. Mckinley cried out in pain as the thick beam of light temporarily blinded her. She resisted the urge to drop the riot shield as an involuntary action, and instead slammed her right hand over her face.

"Dammit!" she screeched. "That fricken' _hurt_, you a-hole!"

"Are you injured?" Jayhawk yelled from her left.

"I'm all right," Mckinley answered unconvincingly, massaging her eye and then blinking rapidly to get her normal eyesight back. Her vision remained disfigured, however, with everything in her right eye having a tinted red hue. Grumbling about her misfortune, Mckinley returned her right arm to her side and huddled even closer to the riot shield.

"OPEN THE DOOR!" MacTavish demanded into the radio.

"Almost there!" Ghost replied. "Routing through the auxiliary circuit…"

The overhead light flashed blue, and the door slid fully across to admit them passage. Mckinley breathed a sigh of relief and turned her iPod off, deciding to just continue the mission without the assist of blasting music.

"Thanks, Ghost," she said quietly.

"No problem. Now get your arses outta there before more hostiles close in on you!"

The four of them remained in crouching positions behind their shields, slowly making their way through the door and out into level 2 of the dungeon. A small squad of Russians waited for them, but the members of the 141 were unharmed behind the bulletproof glass. Mckinley ambled up to one of the hostiles and bashed his head with the riot shield. He tumbled to the ground and was still.

"Use your riot shield to draw their fire!" MacTavish commanded, pointing down the curved hallway at another wave of tangos.

"Roger that!" Happy to stay safe behind a barrier while the others fired upon the enemy, Mckinley treaded over to another man and bashed him as well. She really didn't know how one simple blow done by a flat protective _shield_ could take down an enemy so fast, but it seemed to be working. She knew she wasn't supposed to argue with the laws of the video game.

Her right eye was beginning to repair itself, as the redness her eye saw was steadily decreasing. Still, the pain from that laserbeam continued to bite at her optic nerve.

"Queen! You all right?"

Either Mckinley was bad at hiding her pain, or MacTavish was just really observant.

"I'll live!" she called back, pounding another Russian to the ground. "Don't get all worked up about me. Let's just focus on finding the prisoner!"

Minutes later, the group had finished walking the entire 2nd floor and had had no luck at finding the prisoner—or any other prisoners, to be exact. Mckinley wanted to tell them that Price was in the lowest level of the gulag: extreme isolation, but she knew Ghost would figure it out for himself soon and alert MacTavish. Her heart suddenly began to ache when she peered over the ledge and up at the control room. How long had Ghost been up there and her down here? It seemed like hours had flown by. And this was one of the very last levels she'd have with him—

"Ghost here."

Her breathing hitched midway in her throat. Ghost's timing was spot-on.

"Recommend you bypass the lower floors by rappelling out that window."

She glanced around. "What windo—_Oh,_ _that window_…"

MacTavish patted her on the back as he passed her. "Congratulations, Queen. You found it." He took hold of the rope hanging out the window and began his descent. "Copy that, Ghost. Queen, follow me!"

Once the rest of the team had landed on the bottom floor, Mckinley dropped the riot shield and picked up an AUG HBAR Red Dot Sight from one of the dead Russians. She hooked it onto her belt and then rappelled down to where MacTavish and the others waited.

"Captain MacTavish," a random 141 soldier said from the radio. "Last floor clear. We'll link up with you at the bottom."

Mckinley brushed away some dirt on her legs and then took the M4A1 Carbine off her belt. The new gun she'd just acquired would have to wait for a while.

"The camera feed in solitary confinement is dead," Ghost reported numbly. "The power must be down in that section."

"Ooo, fun," she murmured sarcastically, receiving a chuckle from Worm.

"Roger that! Squad, switch to night vision." Apparently the captain hadn't heard Mckinley mocking Ghost. Or he just ignored it.

Rolling her eyes, Mckinley slid the night goggles from her forehead over her eyes when they entered the pitch darkness of the bottom floor. With the goggles, everything became hazy and green. So in her right eye, everything became slightly mixed.

"Ugh, I hate these ugly bug glasses, making everything turn green," she muttered to herself. "And I still fricken' hate that Russian who pointed his red laser in my freaking eye." She blinked. "Everything's fricken' decked in Christmas colors."

She heard Ghost laugh through the radio's speaker. "Queen, you _do _realize your radio is on, and that it's right next to your mouth?"

"Oh, _be quiet_, English teabag," Mckinley shot back playfully, secretly cherishing the fact that she'd made Ghost laugh. His laugh was _hot_. "Just keep doing your computer genius stuff up there in the control room and leave the dramatics to me."

When they turned a corner, an ambush of hostiles awaited them. They'd bunked inside empty cells and now popped out from behind the cell walls to fire at the soldiers. They, too, wore night vision goggles.

"I got this!" announced Mckinley, loading a new grenade into the launcher of her gun. "Just give me covering fire until I get this in…"

Two… then three hostiles were down, thanks to Worm, Jayhawk and MacTavish. But at least a dozen more continued sending bullets whizzing past their heads in the dark. Would the risk of getting shot in the head ever cease?

Finally, after struggling with the grenade because her eyesight was so poor, Mckinley finished loading it in the launcher and sent it flying at the cluster of Russians. With a bang and a puff of smoke, their numbers depleted instantly.

"Check the cells for stragglers," MacTavish instructed, beginning to glance inside each cell as he walked down the dark hallway.

Worm checked the first one. "This one's empty," he announced.

Jayhawk peered into the second one. "This one's empty, too."

"Clear," Mckinley said, briskly poking her head into the next one.

Suddenly, as Jayhawk stepped over to the next open cell, a burst of gunfire exploded inside and Jayhawk fell to the ground instantly. Mckinley rushed to his side, and Worm and MacTavish quickly finished off the lone hostile before he could cause any more damage.

Mckinley dropped to her knees next to her fallen comrade in a panic and pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling for a pulse. MacTavish and Worm stood over her, watching intently. They were all hoping… wishing… that just maybe…

Sighing, she stood up from Jayhawk's bleeding, unmoving body. There was no sign of life. She shook her head and murmured a quick prayer for him under her breath. Now there were three. Only three people left who could find Captain Price. Would they lose any more?

And then the three of them were on the floor. Small chunks of the roof cascaded onto the ground in front of them, and the sounds of loud detonations could be heard from above. Mckinley dropped to the ground and covered her head, becoming disoriented as the ground shook and rocked.

"Shepherd! What the hell was that?" MacTavish raced to Mckinley's side and helped her stand back up, supporting her until she regained her balance. Worm went to her other side and also tried to make sure she didn't fall, with the aftershocks still surging through the gulag. "Get the Navy to cease fire!"

Worm helped her into a lighted portion of the tunnel network, catching her as she stumbled when another vibration raged the building. Mckinley felt like the Scarecrow from the Wizard of Oz: fumbling and dazed after he'd gotten off that post in the field and tried walking around with Dorothy. She yanked the goggles away from her face and let the regular lighting pour into her eyes. The traces of red had vanished altogether from her eyesight, so the barren walls of the new hallway were easily distinguishable.

_Thank goodness that stupid redness is GONE._

"The Navy isn't in a talking mood right now," Shepherd said monotonously, not knowing that Mckinley had begun punching her fist into her hand threateningly when he spoke. "Standby."

"Standby my a—"

"Queen, calm down for a second," MacTavish commanded her sternly. "Let's keep moving. Shepherd will check back with us shortly."

The three soldiers continued into the next passageway, where huge black and red pipes lined the walls and electrical boxes were hanging like decorations and wall ornaments all around them. A few messages and warnings dotted the walls, all written in Russian.

"Bravo Six—they've agreed to stop firing for now. Keep going, I'll keep you posted. Out."

There were three hostiles hiding behind a wall of pipes down at the other end of the hallway. Mckinley tossed a flashbang over the pipes, letting it land at their feet. Dashing forwards and taking charge of this situation, she ducked underneath some low pipes. She quickly shot down the three tangos behind the pipes before they recovered from the flashbang's effects.

"Nice work," Worm commented kindly.

Finally, after finding a few more Russians taking cover in a boxy area near the pipes, the area was clear. A thick metal door blocked the way into another room, and Mckinley faintly recalled not having to go through that door… but how, again?

Ghost interrupted her thoughts with his husky British voice. "The old shower room's about thirty feet ahead on your left. You'll have to breach the wall to get in."

She stared at the blank wall, and tilted her head to the right slightly in contemplation. _What was behind this wall, again? The old shower room? I don't remember…_

_Oh yeah. That awfully long room full to the brim of hostiles with Red Dot Sights and their very own riot shields, just to anger me. Man, does karma suck or what?_

"Queen—plant the breaching charge on the wall, we're taking a shortcut."

Mckinley rolled her eyes again.

"Some shortcut."

#########################

"I just jumped through a hole in the ground," Mckinley said to herself, peering up at the huge uneven space she'd come out of. She'd just escaped a bombardment inside the (rather disgusting) shower room, being the first to fall into the tunnels through the hole. "And now I'm even deeper inside this psychotic nightmare." She turned to her radio on her shoulder. "Ghost, you still with us?"

"I'm right here, Queen," he replied calmly. "Where's 'Tavish?"

A shadow leapt through the hole in the ceiling and landed next to her. Another followed.

"He just dropped in." MacTavish smirked at her comedic answer. "Ghost, how are you getting out of here? I know we've got the chopper, but—"

"After I help you find the prisoner, me and the boys are heading out the way we came. It's faster."

"Will you make it out before the bombardment?" she wanted to know.

He laughed. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. Just keep going." He paused. "What's your current position?"

"We're in the old tunnel system heading south-southwest," MacTavish answered for her. The three of them slid down a slanted concrete section of the tunnels and crawled out of the sewer water and onto a small ledge.

"Okay. Keep going along that tunnel."

Another door waited for them, and so did another blank wall. Mckinley suspected that using a door was too boring for Task Force 141, so she pulled out another one of those breaching boxes and got ready. Apparently explosions were much cooler ways to enter a room. She'd have to borrow that technique when arriving at a friend's party in the future.

"I'm detecting two heat signatures—one of them should be Prisoner 627," said Ghost, the volume of his voice growing louder.

"Thanks Ghost." Mckinley spun the white box on her fingertips like a basketball. "Now get that English arse of yours out of the gulag before they start the bombardment, or I'll have to come find you."

Ghost chuckled, Mckinley swooned, MacTavish snickered and Worm just looked lost and puzzled as heck.

"Roger that. You get out safely, too, Queen." His tone grew soft. "We don't wanna lose you."

"See you soon, mate," MacTavish said, interrupting them from getting sappy.

"You too, 'Tavish. Over and out."

Mckinley shoved the breaching device onto the wall and shut her eyes.

Everything happened rather quickly, much quicker than Mckinley had remembered it when she'd played the level before. She'd previously thought that this part had taken an extensive amount of time to happen, but maybe that had just been her imagination. Or it had just taken her a while to comprehend what had occurred, even after it was over.

Whichever the case, Mckinley did not expect the events to transpire so rapidly. One second she was squinting to see a bearded, unruly-looking man using his own handcuffs to choke a Russian soldier. The next second the Russian soldier was being shoved at her, knocking her to the ground and causing her to lose consciousness for a brief second when her head hit the concrete.

When her eyes focused in on the man standing above her, shoving the barrel-end of his gun in her face, Mckinley bit her tongue to stop the flood of words begging to pour from her mouth. _Captain Price! Don't hurt me! I'm MacTavish's friend! I know you were on his team once! I'm not an enemy!_ Her heart screamed for Ghost's protection, though she knew Price wouldn't shoot her. He was breathing hard; his wind tunnel sounded rasp and weak. He had bright blue eyes and a scarred, worn face. Most of it was hidden behind a graying brown beard. On his head he wore a navy blue knit cap that reminded her of that southern guy from Call of Duty 3. His body was shaking madly, and the slow wisps of air coming from behind his teeth proved he was rather nervous.

In the blink of an eye, MacTavish came into view and held a small pistol to the back of Price's head.

"DROP IT!" he demanded firmly.

Price, still holding the gun in Mckinley's face, glanced back at the young 141 soldier, looking baffled.

Mckinley smiled. _Ta-da!_

"Soap?" Price gasped. He stepped back and let the gun fall to his side. The two men met each other's eyes in shock.

"Price?" MacTavish said quietly, evidently astonished. A few seconds went by as the men stared in shock at each other. They couldn't believe that the other was alive. Price had supposedly died years ago… but now he was here, in the gulag. Mckinley realized how much of a surprise this was for her captain, and she continued smiling.

MacTavish spun the small pistol he was holding in his fingers and handed it to Price. "This belongs to you, sir."

Worm appeared in her view, as well. Mckinley huffed. None of them were noticing that she was still on the ground. It would take an explosion for them to realize where she was. _Literally_.

"Who's Soap?" Worm inquired.

Just as she'd predicted, a huge cloud of fire burst from the roof above them. The three who were standing all ducked out of instinct. Mckinley was limited to shielding her face with her arm because she was on the floor.

"C'mon, we gotta get outta here!" MacTavish grabbed Price's arm and motioned for the exit. They began running. Mckinley started getting up, but Worm was nice enough to notice her finally on the floor. He grabbed her hand and stood her up, then let her run in front of him.

"GO GO GO!" MacTavish yelled.

Rubble gushed from the ceilings like a waterfall. The four people remained in a loose-fitting cluster as they made their way towards the LZ, dodging falling debris and catching themselves before they succumbed to the quaking floors of the gulag. At this rate, Mckinley wondered if she'd ever _get_ to see Ghost again. Adrenaline pulsed through every vein in her body and urged her to run faster. This fast-paced rush reminded her of when she had to run to the chopper in the favela.

"Bravo Six, be advised. They've started the bombardment early! Get the hell outta there now!"

Mckinley clenched her fists together and let the adrenaline seep deeper into her body. She'd need it. She knew the LZ would become blocked as they approached it… and she knew that they'd hit a dead end and have to resort to using flares. The group would have to run as fast as possible if they wanted to make it out of there alive.

Just as she was thinking about the roof collapsing in front of them, it happened. Everyone stopped running and turned around. Their escape helicopter had disappeared behind a wall of rocks.

"Go back! Go back! We'll find another way out!"

Mckinley attached her M4A1 Carbine onto her belt as she ran back through the hallways, turning a different corner this time and dashing up a small flight of stairs. The stairs led to a large room with a huge hole in the roof, thanks to a massive UXO bomb that had been dropped inside the room. It was sitting in a pile of debris, with a large streak of sunlight illuminating the area around it. Mckinley glanced upward through the opening and saw daylight. _Our way out! The Navy must've dropped this bomb…_

"It's a dead end!" Worm cried, spinning around madly as he searched for an exit. But every doorway was blocked off by pieces of the ceiling. Their only chance was this hole in the roof.

"Six-Four, where the hell are you, over?" MacTavish barked into the radio.

"Bravo-Six, there's too much smoke!" said the chopper pilot. "I can't see you! I can't see you!"

"What the hell are we gonna do?" Mckinley screamed, frantically checking around the room for an exit Worm might've missed in his panic… she vaguely remembered something happening about now… they weren't supposed to die here. They were supposed to escape!

"Queen? What's going on?" It was Ghost, speaking through the radio again. Concern streaked against his British accent. "Are you okay? MacTavish! What's happening? Queen?"

"Gho—"

Suddenly, a huge surge of rocks tumbled downward from the roof, hitting Mckinley square in her head, neck, and back. Blood flooded her eyes, and she collapsed onto the ground. Her lungs pounded weak struggles of air to and from her body, but she was losing consciousness fast. The red blood was making it hard to see—

"Queen is down!" MacTavish hollered. "QUEEN!"

The blood in her eyes turned black, and her eyelids shut.

#######################

Rumbles echoed in the distance. They seemed to be coming from miles away, like thunder rolling in the sky following a bolt of lightning. Progressively, the sounds grew louder and closer, finally roaring in her ears. Mckinley flashed her eyes open to get a sense as to what was happening, but it was no use. Even with her eyes open, everything was black. Black, dark, and empty. What was going on? She tried to remember what had just happened… why was she locked in this pitch-black abyss?

_Am I dead?_

Abruptly, the blackness was pulled away from her face by a pair of crinkly hands. It was Captain Price, removing a huge flat piece of stone from obscuring her view. He tossed it aside and glanced back at a figure that was standing on the UXO bomb.

"Whatever you're gonna do, Soap, do it fast!" Price shouted, remaining at her side as Mckinley lay there, recouping from her blackout. She moaned and ran a hand through her hair, which had fallen out of the high ponytail. It was sooty and grey; the luscious red color was hiding behind a wall of ash. _Damn, I need a shower._

MacTavish lifted his gun to the sky, aiming the barrel upwards through the hole. He fired a single shot—which turned out to be a crimson-colored signal flare. The flare hurled through the hole in the roof and set sparks flying in all directions to alert the chopper of their position.

"Bravo Six, I see your flare. SPIE rig on the way."

_Thank God._

Immediately, a long zip line fell down the hole and landed at MacTavish's feet. The line was thick, black, and anxious to help the four soldiers out of the gulag and into safety's open arms.

_Hopefully "safety's" name is Ghost._ Mckinley remarked in her head.

"Let's go! Let's go!" Price grabbed her left hand and yanked her from the ground. Stumbling and feeling the blood pound in her ears, Mckinley followed Price, MacTavish and Worm over to the SPIE rig.

"Hook up!" MacTavish ordered. "Go! Go!"

Mckinley bent over and hooked herself to the zip line. She glanced around the room as more explosions rocketed nearby, feeling the extensive heat singe her cheeks.

Seconds passed. All of the soldiers stared up through the hole after they attached to the SPIE rig, waiting to be lifted into the sky. Mckinley patted Worm's shoulder and nodded at him, trying to build confidence in her comrade. He forced a smile back and continued to stare anxiously above him.

Eventually, MacTavish was hoisted into the air, followed by Price, then Mckinley, and then Worm. Mckinley screeched as she dangled helplessly around the long shaft towards the sky, pinching her eyelids closed when a burst of flames scorched her body. The pain was excruciating and agonizing, ripping through every centimeter of skin on her body and charring the legs of her wetsuit. She felt her blood desperately trying to remain at a steady temperature, but she'd surely come out of this with a few spots of second-degree burns.

And as the four soldiers flew out of the roof of the gulag—with a huge explosion following them and sending a fiery cloud stinging their feet—Price cried one word that contained every emotion he'd bottled up for five years:

"_**FREEDOM!"**_


	15. Nightmare

Okay all of my amazing readers. Here is something new for you all to chew on. This chapter is from Ghost's POV, for once, and isn't in that letter form I've used previously. This is him experiencing a nightmare while flying from the gulag to the Task Force 141 base.

**A couple of things to take note of:**

1. I will not be on the computer/writing this story from this Friday to Tuesday-ish. My family and I are going on a quick vacation since it's Labor Day weekend. So, sadly, don't expect any new updates during that period of time.

2. I've decided to add a mission to the MW2 plot. Instead of heading straight into Contingency, I've decided to prove to you guys that I can actually write without having a game plot to go by. This will be a mission Task Force 141 undertakes after resting for a few days at their base. Any hints for what the mission will contain? Hmm... I'll give you one hint. Think about what spies do best. They go undercover and portray other people sometimes, right? At like fancy parties and such? Hmm... is that a good enough hint for you?

3. I will be changing the rating of this story to M soon. Very soon. Yes, this story will soon contain what some people call a "lemon." Only mine will be basically like "half" of a lemon... eh... I'm not doing a very good job at explaining this... never mind. In a review or a PM, let me know if you REALLY DO want a lemon. If you guys don't want it, I won't write it. I DO have some friends from school sort of "coaching" me through this... (they consider me pretty innocent, if you know what I mean)... but if you guys don't want me to, I won't. And please, if you have ever written a lemon, help me. PLEASE. S.O.S. I'm brand new to this type of stuff. Help! ^_^

**Question of the Chapter:** What song do you think could describe Mckinley/Queen and Ghost's weird relationship? I thought of "Kryptonite" by 3 Doors Down... any others? Please let me know.

I LOVED EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOUR REPLIES TO THE LAST CHAPTER'S "Question of the Chapter"! OMG I think I was laughing so hard I was crying. Thanks, guys.

ENJOY! Read and Review!

_**ecto1B**_

* * *

_Note: _**Ghost's POV**

Chapter 15:

Nightmare

A shiver rolled down his spine.

Yawning, he opened his eyes. But there was no difference between the darkness behind his eyelids and the darkness of the room he was in… was it a room? He couldn't tell. The room was pitch-black. Not even the faintest ray of light penetrated its blackness.

Ghost groaned and sat up. He clutched his head as it stung with the first signs of a headache.

"Where am I?" he murmured into the darkness. No one answered, and he let out a heavy sigh. _Great, so I'm alone._

A tiny draft of cool air brushed against his completely exposed face. Ghost reached up and felt the skin along his jaw line and then up to his temples, searching for his skull balaclava and his tinted sunglasses. They were missing, much to his confusion. He was pretty sure he'd fallen asleep inside the Pave Low with both of them on… so where were they? Then it occurred to him that the floor beneath him was no longer the metal plating of the chopper. Now it was just hard, cold flooring. He wasn't in the pave low any longer.

Something definitely was amiss.

Using the floor for support, Ghost stood up and blindly began moving about the darkness. He thought that maybe if he was standing higher, his eyes might pick up some light and adjust. But that didn't happen. The darkness still submerged everything around him.

"Hello?" he called, stumbling forward when his combat boots met a slope in the floor. He regained his footing, feeling a bead of sweat slither down the length of his nose. "Is anyone there?"

Suddenly, a bone-chilling whisper murmured hoarsely from his right.

"_Ghost?_"

Ghost froze. "Who's there?" He whipped around, hoping to find the source of the noise beside him. But nothing but blackness remained at his side. He could've sworn the voice sounded close by…

Ignoring his question, the voice spoke again. "Ghost… _please_…"

"Queen?" Again, Ghost pivoted in a 360 circle, inspecting each portion of the black curtain surrounding him. Now his efforts grew more desperate, as he recognized the speaker to be Queen. She sounded numb and scared.

"_Please_, Ghost… help me…"

"QUEEN!" he practically bellowed. "_Where are you_?" His insides burned with anxiety and mild hysteria. She needed help, and he couldn't find her. That was the worst scenario… Queen was lost inside a maze of nothingness and he was unable to come to her aid.

This time, her voice sounded closer. "Ghost, you _can't_ just leave me here to _die_… I thought you cared about me…"

Another voice joined hers. "Ghost! Where are you! I need backup, ASAP!"

_MacTavish?_

"Queen is down! I repeat! Queen is down! Our position has been compromised! We're being overrun!"

"Hang on, mate, I'm on my way!" Ghost raced forwards in the darkness, following the echoes of his friends' cries. "Hold your position! Don't leave Queen's side!" He listened for the sounds of gunshots, but could hear none. That was strange… unless the enemy was using suppressed weapons, he should be able to hear—

"Tangos coming in on my left! I can't hold 'em, I CAN'T HOLD—" The rest of MacTavish's sentence was smothered, and then hushed completely.

"MACTAVISH!" Ghost roared. "QUEEN!"

Ghost stopped running, trying to catch his breath. Tears had begun forming overtop his cloudy blue eyes, but he fought them back and gnashed his teeth together madly. He was not about to lose both of them now. They had to be alive. There was no possible way they were dead… Ghost put a hand to his forehead and wiped away the sweat, panting hard. _No, they're not dead_ he persuaded himself to think. _Queen and MacTavish are perfectly fine. Nothing happened._

"Too late, English…" a malicious voice seasoned with a thick Spanish accent cackled in his ear. Ghost's body went rigid. "Your little friends are dead."

Ghost dug his fingernails into his palms, restraining to lash out at the plump Spanish man who'd materialized from out of the darkness.

"_Roba_…" Ghost snarled. "_You_ _bloody_ _son of a_—"

"Now, now, English…" Roba simpered, interrupting Ghost from finishing a long string of curses and profanities. "Let us converse like gentlemen for a moment. None of those nasty obscenities are useful at a time like this…"

It took Ghost every ounce of his strength not to kill the man before him. Roba had been responsible for ordering the murders of his family years ago… and all Ghost wanted was to return the favor. Revenge had poisoned his mind and driven him insane because of Roba. Killing him was at the top of his To-Do list. But that would have to wait for now. Roba was here to speak with him, whether he liked it or not.

"What 'time' are you referring to?" Ghost inquired hotly. Much to his horror, Roba let out a content chuckle.

"A time in which you are all alone," Roba replied. "When no one is there to comfort you, or to reassure you, or to listen to your pitiful history." The man crossed his arms over his chest. "A time that is drawing nearer with each passing second."

"What did you do to Queen and MacTavish?" Ghost tried to avoid meeting the man's icy gaze, circling around the topic Roba had brought up and not responding completely.

Roba chuckled again, lowering his gaze and smirking with pleasure when Ghost twitched with discomfort. "You've got it all wrong," he murmured sinisterly, pronouncing every word in a way to make them stick in Ghost's brain.

Ghost choked back the food he'd eaten earlier and stifled a scream when Roba finished his monologue. He didn't understand a word of it yet, but he knew it would mean something in the future.

"It's not what _I_ did, English. No, no. You shouldn't let your mind persist on that. What I did to them in this nightmare of yours is far less worse than what is to come. You shouldn't worry about what I can do to them, English. It's what _he'll_ do that should worry you."


	16. Encounter Base

Chapter 16:

**"Encounter Base"**

**Day 5 – 16:54:47**

**Pvt. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Undisclosed Location, Russia**

"Queen, wake up. We're almost there."

Someone began gently shaking her shoulder. Mckinley groaned and laid her arm over her eyes in an effort to prove she was reluctant to comply.

"_Queen_…" the voice murmured. "C'mon and get up. You _have_ to. We're going to contact Shepherd at the base, and he'll want to speak with you."

Yawning, Mckinley stretched her arms and sat up. She had been sleeping on the floor of the Pave Low as it flew across Russia to the Task Force 141's secret base. A handful of hours had slipped past, mostly because of the sedative MacTavish had previously given her. Once she sat up, a throbbing pain in her legs and side made her grimace. She clutched her arms around her waist and cursed under her breath.

"Hurts, doesn't it?" MacTavish went over to a small First Aid kit at the other end of the Pave Low's belly and extracted some anesthetics from the bottom of the case. He shut the box and returned to Mckinley's side, injecting the painkiller into the skin below her shoulder. That was when Mckinley realized she wasn't in her black wetsuit any longer. Instead, she was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt, black sweatpants and grey boots.

"Holy shit, Soap!" Wincing once at the tiny sting from the shot, Mckinley looked furiously around the inside of the chopper for any signs of her wetsuit. "What happened to my wetsuit? And _who in the hell changed me?_"

Just then, Captain Price exited the cockpit of the Pave Low and made his way to the left bench against the wall.

"It's not comin' back to you, then?" he asked, sitting on the bench and crossing his arms. "_You_ did."

She gave him a bewildered look. "I… I did?"

Price chuckled. "Yep. After we administered you the medicine, you changed into what you're wearing now and then fell asleep."

"You must've been too sleepy to know what you were doing," MacTavish noted. "I guessed that. You were tired as hell. Out for _six entire hours_."

Mckinley massaged her neck and moaned groggily, feeling the sleep rushing back to slap her in the face. "What's my diagnose, then, doc? Why do my legs and my stomach hurt so damn much?"

"Multiple second-degree burns on your legs and a bruised rib," stated MacTavish plainly. "But don't worry, when we get to the base, you'll go to the infirmary and they'll fix you up."

She nodded. "Sounds good, sir."

Price suddenly leaned forward and offered her his hand to shake. "I'm sorry, I don't think we were introduced on such good terms." He smiled. "I'm Captain John Price, from England."

Mckinley took his hand and shook it. "I'm Queen, and I'm from the States."

Price dipped his head kindly. "I could tell by your accent. Where in the states are you from, Queen?"

"Pensacola, Florida," she replied, instantly feeling homesickness swell inside her heart. The fast-paced life of a 141 soldier was enjoyable, but truthfully, she missed her normal life. She missed the serenity of it all; the moments where she just couldn't find anything to do. She longed for her bedroom, where she'd lock the door and blast Aerosmith and The Who all day. Mckinley also missed using her hairbrush as a microphone and becoming a rock star in her vanity mirror, singing to crowds filled with celebrities and adoring fans. Here, in the middle of the war, she _did_ have wonderful friends, and she was never bored. But Mckinley began wondering if she'd be willing to sacrifice what she had here for her regular life in the real world. She wondered if she'd be able to sacrifice her feelings for Ghost—

"_Queen_?" MacTavish was waving his gloved hand in front of her face. "Come back to earth, mate. The pilot just said we'll be landing in a few moments."

She shook herself out of her daydream, but then suddenly noticed that something was wrong. Weren't there supposed to be four people inside the Pave Low? "Hey, Soap… where's Worm?"

MacTavish and Price promptly lowered their heads; chins resting against their chests in grievance. Mckinley gasped and let her hands fly to her mouth when her jaw dropped. _No… that can't be possible. I'm must be imagining things… I'm taking this out of proportion… I must be…_

"He's… dead?" she breathed hoarsely.

MacTavish sat down on the ground next to her and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. He let a heavy sigh slide between his teeth, proving he was unready to reveal Worm's fate.

"You were asleep when it happened. He got some third-degree burns all over his body, since he was the last one on the SPIE rig to exit the gulag. I guess he was caught in the explosion when the UXO bomb went off. We brought him up to the chopper, and he wasn't breathing. Price performed CPR on him for twenty minutes straight…" his voice cracked and faded.

"It was no use," finished Price. "We lost him."

Mckinley dabbed at her eye with her t-shirt sleeve, preventing any tears from sliding down her cheeks.

"Wh-what did you guys do with him?"

MacTavish coughed to clear his throat. "We transferred his body onto another chopper. They're going to bring him back to the States to be buried by his family."

Mckinley's eyes grew wide. "And what about Bearcat? And Jester? And _Ghost_? Did they manage to make it out of there?" She was perfectly ready to start yelling at the pilot to turn the chopper around and head back to the gulag to find Ghost. She wasn't about to lose two friends today. Poor Worm was enough.

"They're all fine. We'll see them when we land at the base. They've been there for a while, since we had to make a stop." MacTavish exchanged unsure glances with Price, then returned to looking at Mckinley. "Are… you going to be alright? About Worm? I mean, you two were best mates."

She gulped, swallowing back another flood of tears from cascading down her cheeks. So the _real_ Queen had been close friends with Worm. That made this situation much more difficult for her to act out. Pretending to be Queen was getting harder with each event that partook, and she doubted she'd be able to continue for much longer. Pretending that she was truly going to miss Worm, though she hardly knew him? It wasn't natural for her to do such a deceitful thing… but she had to, or MacTavish and Price would grow suspicious. Another thing she worried about was the entire situation with Ghost. She hoped falling in love with him was something the real Queen would be doing… if _he_ was falling for her as well, then it was okay… wasn't it?

"I'll do my best to hold out, sir," she whispered, wondering if the tears she were about to weep were because of Worm's tragic death or because of the predicament she'd weaved herself into.

Her captain opened his mouth to reply, but was interrupted before any words could come out.

"Captain MacTavish," said the pilot from the cockpit in a monotonous tone. "We've arrived at the base. Ready yourselves for landing."

"Roger that." MacTavish stood from the ground and helped Mckinley stand as well. "Notify General Shepherd that we'll be making contact with 'im shortly."

"Yes, sir."

It took a few more minutes before the chopper reached the landing pad. When it touched down, MacTavish and Price supported Mckinley as she limped out. Since the burns on her legs were so tender, she was unable to walk by herself and required the assistance of the two men.

"Welcome home," MacTavish said to her as they paused outside the base. "Encounter Base. We're here."

Shielding her eyes from the peculiarly strong sunlight, Mckinley began to take in the surroundings that would become her home-away-from-home for the next couple days. She recalled back to what Rocket and Chemo had told her before they attacked the oilrig. The two of them had spun delirious stories about the base, since Mckinley had claimed "it had been so long since she was there." They were happy to reiterate on the ins and outs of Encounter Base for her, not stopping to wonder why she was so oblivious to their temporary home.

The hidden Task Force 141 base was located within a substantial forest clearing in an undisclosed Russian sector. With two small mountain ranges on either side and a lake to the north, it was truly the ideal place to house wounded or resting soldiers. From off the lake, a gentle breeze carried through the lines of buildings, cooling the base to an agreeable temperature. Even on hot days, the lake managed to refresh the entire facility with long, crisp breaths of wind.

The base itself was also specially designed and built. On the left side of the base, all of the necessities for soldiers were grouped: barracks for sleeping, a mess hall for meals, and a row of shower stalls for bathing. Placed on the opposite side were any required physical training exercises that the men needed to stay fit and healthy. Things such as a rock-climbing wall, a pair of basketball courts, and even a training course made up that group of equipment for soldiers. Near the very back of the base sat the sleeping quarters for higher officials, and also a small building where debriefing took place.

Currently, the base was decked in a white blanket of snow that never seemed to melt. Though the sun was rather hot on most days, the milky carpet persisted to become a bothersome padding beneath the feet of the 141 soldiers. The groundskeepers coped with the added problems, like having thin sheets of ice encase the handles on the rock climbing wall (resulting in a few broken legs and arms) and the doors to the barracks and to the mess hall freezing solid. Somehow Mother Nature had weaved her way into the 141 base as well, though she often grew compassionate and let the doors unfreeze and the rock wall thaw out. She'd even allowed the basketball courts to be cleared off so the men could play a bit.

Mckinley was genuinely surprised to not see many men strolling around the base. She spotted two heading to the basketball courts, one having a smoke next to the barrack doors, and another starting the ascent up the rock-climbing wall. Where were the others? She knew there weren't just _four_ members of Task Force 141.

While Mckinley was glancing around, she noticed a juicy, meaty scent wafting from the mess hall. As she took the delicious smell in through her nostrils, another harsh pang of homesickness rippled through her heart. The cooks were making sloppy joes… one of her absolute favorite dishes. Her mom had always made the best sloppy joes, and she hoped tonight's dinner would be able to meet her standards.

Mckinley also noticed a weird smell coming from a long grey building near the helicopter pad where they'd landed. It reminded her of that horrific hospital smell: a twisted mixture of blood, surgeon tools and meds. Obviously this building was the infirmary, where MacTavish and Price were dragging her. She shuddered and gulped, wishing the sloppy joe smell would overpower the infirmary smell.

But as MacTavish and Price led her towards the infirmary, something else caught her attention; something that was much more important to her than basketball courts or mess halls.

A powerfully built man wearing a tight black turtleneck, cargo pants and black combat boots walked out of the infirmary doors. He was holding a clipboard and discussing something on it with a medic who was strolling next to him. Over his face, he wore a black balaclava with a strikingly familiar skull on the front…

"Ghost!" Mckinley blurted instantly, sensing the corners of her mouth progressively climb higher up her cheeks.

The man glanced up from the clipboard. For once, his sky-blue eyes were without darkly tinted sunglasses, and they gleamed like iridescent pieces of glass in the blinding rays of the sun. When he found the person who'd called his name, a thick crease of a smile manifested on his mask. Quickly, he handed the clipboard to the medic and made his way over to Mckinley and the others.

Ghost stopped about two feet in front of them; the smile crease was still visible on his balaclava.

"MacTavish, Captain Price," he dipped his head in acknowledgement to his supervisors, speaking in a formal and obedient tone. Then, as he looked at Mckinley, the blue whirlwinds in his eyes danced with devotion, tinged with the faint traces of amusement. "And _Queen_, of course."

Mckinley took that as a signal. She really didn't care what was protocol and what wasn't, and if public display of affection was against the rules, so help her. She just wanted a hug. Lifting her arms from MacTavish and Price's shoulders, she hobbled over to Ghost and promptly pulled him into a warm embrace. When she tightened her grip around his neck to show that she'd been worried for him, Mckinley was beyond delighted when he hugged her back just as tightly.

"I'm glad to find you safe and sound," Ghost murmured in her ear. "When I heard they'd started the bombardment early, I…" he cleared his throat, "I mean, you were so worried _I_ wouldn't make it out in time, and then they tell us over the radio that you're all trapped inside—"

Mckinley laughed and shook her head, taken aback at how much he was readily giving her. She never expected him to be one to display such raw emotions so quickly. Leaving her arms draped over his shoulders, she stepped back to inspect him. "Ghost, calm down. I'm right here—"

Completely out of the blue, MacTavish grabbed her arm and tossed it over his shoulder. Apparently he'd seen signs that she was about to fall; the injuries to her legs and abdominal areas would surely wear her out if she stood on her own too long. Mckinley had been too wrapped up in her conversation with Ghost to notice the swelling pain crawling up her legs and forcing them to wobble. She grimaced a bit at MacTavish's random actions and looked apologetically up at Ghost.

"What's wrong with her?" Ghost asked. His smile crease line in his mask curved itself into a frown when he noticed something out of order.

"Burns to her legs and a bruised rib," stated MacTavish matter-of-factly. "Our departure from the gulag wasn't a clean ride, like we'd hoped. The UXO bomb went off prematurely as we were exiting." He lowered his head like before. "We also lost Worm on the way out."

Ghost let out a sigh. "Sad to hear, mate. He was a good man." He paused, glancing off at the snow-covered trees lining the base. Then, coughing, he resumed speaking with them. "Queen, you should come inside the infirmary and get patched up. Who knows when we'll be assigned a new mission."

"Fine," she grumbled, realizing that it was a losing battle she was fighting.

MacTavish and Price began to help Mckinley towards the infirmary doors, but Ghost stopped them, holding up his hand. "Sorry sirs, but you have a briefing with General Shepherd that will take place in a few moments. He wants to speak with you about something via radio. I'll bring Queen inside to get mended."

Price nodded. "Sounds like a plan."

Mckinley flashed Ghost a puzzled look. MacTavish and Price had struggled to keep her aloft as they brought her inside the base. How would one man manage it? She knew Ghost was strong and all, but both of her legs were burned, and she could barely walk. He'd surely need the assistance of another soldier.

"How are you—" she began, but was interrupted when Ghost leaned down and swept her up into his arms, bridal style.

"Ghost!" she exclaimed, feeling her cheeks turn bright red at their closeness. The last time they were this close, he was dressing her wound at the favela, and she hadn't considered herself to be in love with him then. "_What the hell_ are you doing?"

He chuckled when she cursed, and the smile crease reappeared. "Bringing you to the infirmary, of course." She watched him meet MacTavish's knowing gaze—giving him an amused glance—and then Ghost turned around and carried Mckinley through the infirmary's grey double doors. MacTavish and Price heading for the briefing tent behind them, murmuring to each other with smiles on their faces.

Inside the infirmary, the foul hospital smell reeked in every corner. Mckinley made a face when the revolting smell trickled down the back of her throat, trying to scan her eyes around the entire building while doing so. The walls were grey and dull; the doors, black and windowless. Even the medical staff—all men—was dressed in boring slate-colored outfits. They passed by Ghost and Mckinley like drones with no emotion; carrying clipboards and stethoscopes.

"So when did you get here?" Mckinley began casually, instinctively snuggling closer to his chest and letting his fingers massage the lower of her back in a compulsive manner.

"About an hour before you arrived." He paused to say hello to one of the medics passing in the hall, breaking the medic's drone-like stroll. "You had to make a transfer stop, so—"

"_I know_, I know," Mckinley interrupted him, staring downcast. _Dammit, he reminded me! _"I don't want to talk about that."

His eyebrows titled dismally towards his blue eyes. "Oh. Sorry. I forgot."

Exhaling, she shrugged. "Ah, it's okay I guess. I just need to…" she desperately racked through her brain for the appropriate ending to the gloomy sentence, "… let my mind leave that topic for a few days. It's not something I want to dwell on for long. That would be unhealthy."

He nodded stiffly, as if she'd struck a nerve in him. "Understandable."

To break the added tension, Mckinley playfully tapped him on the nose, which was currently hidden behind the balaclava. "So what have you been doing since you got here? Nothing _risqué_, I hope?"

It looked like that did the trick, for Ghost suppressed a chuckle. He turned a corner into an unoccupied room and deposited the woman in his arms onto the nearest cot.

"I was jus' going over the status of our injured troops to see who would be available at minute's notice," he explained. "Shepherd might have a new mission for us, and I wanna be ready. Nothing risqué, I _promise_."

Suddenly, Ghost stared down at her, unblinking. Mckinley swore she saw something abnormal glimmer against his blue eyes as he stood there, silent and looming. Was it concern for her health? Or was it what she vaguely feared… lust? An electric shock sizzled down the length of her spine, flooding her body with restlessness. Would he approach her? What would she do? How far would he try to go? Sweat began forming from the pores on her face, and her brain rolled out ideas a mile a minute. _I'm not ready. I'm not ready for what I think he wants. He can't take it from me just yet. I'm not prepared. No matter how much I love him, I'm not ready._

Whatever was in Ghost's eyes, it vanished instantly when a figure appeared in the doorway.

"Queen?" It was Chemo, dressed in the ugly medic's uniform. "Ghost? What are you guys doing here?"

"She has second-degree burns on her legs and a bruised rib," Ghost informed him swiftly, stepping away from the bed when Chemo rushed forwards. Mckinley peered over the medic's shoulder and saw Ghost begin massaging his eyes and grumbling to himself.

Chemo rolled up Mckinley's pant legs up to her kneecaps and then began unraveling the makeshift bandages around her lower legs.

"Do you want Ghost to stay when I remove the wrappings?" Chemo asked, ready to remove the last bits of the gauze to reveal the burns.

Mckinley nodded vigorously. "Yes, Ghost, please stay." She locked eyes with him. "Will you?"

Again, the tension seemed to dematerialize from the lieutenant at an alarming rate. He laughed and sat down on the cot next to hers, laying his hands in his lap. "Sure, Queen. Jus' for you."

Chemo took the bandages off to show Mckinley's heavily burned legs. Her left leg was worse, but there was still multiple red patches dotting the ankle portion of her right limb. Mckinley winced at the sight; she looked like some deformed creature with polka dots.

"Well, you were partially correct, Ghost," Chemo noted, examining the burns carefully. "There are second-degree burns all over her left leg, but minor burns on the other." He went over to a cabinet and extracted a roll of dry, sterile gauze to replace the ones he'd removed previously. "Ghost, can you help me with this?"

Ghost nodded submissively and took some of the gauze from Chemo. He began wrapping it slowly around Mckinley's less-damaged leg, while Chemo attended to her worse looking one.

"Wait, no medication or anything?" Mckinley wanted to know, her heart skipping a beat when she noticed Ghost's blue eyes fastened tightly on her face. "Just bandages?"

Chemo cracked a smile. "Sadly, there's not much I can do for you… well, besides advising you to remain here for the night to let the burns heal." He finished wrapping the bandages at the same time Ghost did. Then, he went back over to the cabinet and began rummaging around for something. "Now, you also said you had a bruised rib?"

"Yep." Mckinley leaned back on the pillow and huffed, not at all liking where this was going. _Please let it be a shot. Not pills… not pills…_

Chemo took out a small bottle from the bottom shelf and rolled two white tablets into the palm of his hand.

_Shit._

Mckinley gave him an unsure glance, using her fingers to prop herself farther back on the cot. She'd never been fond of taking pills, even for pain-related reasons. From stomachaches to PMS, if she could avoid gulping down even the tiniest of medications, she would. They always seemed to make her feel worse, _especially_ in the pit of her stomach.

"They're nonsteroidal," Chemo assured the both of them—Ghost was also looking doubtful at the small objects in his hand. "They'll get rid of the pain in your abdomen and even help a bit with the burns."

"Anti-inflammatory?" Ghost inquired coolly. Mckinley cheered inside her head. Ghost was also not fond of taking pills, from the sound of things. She was proud to have him on her side in this matter.

Chemo nodded. "I promise." He strolled over and dropped the tablets into Mckinley's hand. She stared dubiously down at the two snow-white pills, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue like a child in distaste. "Queen, I wouldn't give you something that could hurt you," said the medic. He winked. "I memorized your medical record, remember? You're not allergic to anything."

She brought the pills up to her mouth and looked warily over at Ghost. When he nodded, she shut her eyes and lobbed the two pellets onto her tongue. Making a disgusted face, she forced them down her throat with a single swallow.

"I hate meds," she groaned, shuddering. "So damn much."

Chemo patted her shoulder gently. "I think we all do, Queen."

Suddenly, Ghost's radio began beeping rapidly, and then MacTavish's voice blared from the speaker.

"Ghost, how's the situation with Queen?"

Ghost pulled the radio closer to his mouth. "Chemo examined her, sir. Said she'll be right as rain in a few days."

"Good. Can you bring her out to the briefing tent? We only have communications with General Shepherd for a few more moments, and he'd like to speak to her about something."

Chemo raised his hands up in front of his chest. "I wouldn't advise that, Captain MacTavish," he said loudly so the radio would pick up his voice. "She's still too weak to walk."

MacTavish didn't answer at first. He most likely was pondering a solution to Queen's predicament. "Well, can Ghost carry her here? It's urgent."

Mckinley and Ghost turned their attention to the medic, begging with their eyes for him to see reason. If there was something wrong, Mckinley wanted to be the first to know. Not the last person to hear about it just because she was benched in the infirmary.

Biting his lip, Chemo reluctantly nodded to Ghost. "Okay, but be _careful_ when transporting her. Just because she can't _feel_ the pain doesn't mean it's not there."

"Perfect," said MacTavish. "Ghost, I'll expect you and Queen in less than five minutes."

"Roger that, Soap." Ghost went over and scooped Mckinley back into his arms. "We'll be there." He faced Chemo. "And don't worry, she's safe with me. I'm not the type who drops people." He made his way over to the door, stepping lightly and taking fluid steps so as not to cause Mckinley any pain. The curved position she was in already supplied her abdomen with enough pressure.

"Bring her back here immediately after the briefing," Chemo instructed sternly, following them out the door and stopping just outside the doorway. "I need to keep an eye on her condition. It could progressively get worse."

"Of course," Ghost replied dully, rolling his eyes at Mckinley. She let out a small giggle, turning a bright shade of pink as a result.

They exited the double doors and headed out into the pathways entwining Encounter Base into an intricate system of travel. Ghost's boots made loud crunching noises against the fresh snow, leaving deep imprints in a trail behind them.

"Off to the briefing tent, eh?" Ghost remarked, rolling his shoulders. "I wonder what Shepherd is gonna tell us?"


	17. Promotion

Well, I hope you all enjoyed my last chapter, "Encounter Base." I got some wonderful reviews already, and I'm hoping for some more that'll come with this chapter. Thanks, guys, for reading and reviewing. I'm just trying to be the best writer I can be, and you guys make it so much easier with all the support I've received. Thank you all. ^_^

I'm trying to make this intro-thing be pretty short... let's see... I'm hoping for either the NEXT chapter or the chapter AFTER that to become the chapter with M-rated content in it. And, again, it will not be uber graphic. I PROMISE. I am not that kind of writer, I have never WRITTEN anything that should be M-rated before, and I DO have some friends who have experience in that field who will be coaching me through it (Thanks Shannon! xD). I will even put a little note right before the M-rated content in the chapter so if you don't want to read it, you can. Happy? :D

**Question of the Chapter:** If you were _actually_ part of the "Loose Ends" level (like Mckinley will be), what would you do? Like, would you force TF141 to make a run for it? Warn Ghost about what was going to happen at the end of the level? (For you Roach fan girls, let's say you are NOT in Roach's position, but still a part of TF141, and you knew about Shepherd's dastardly scheme.)

I really am loving all the responses I'm getting for these Question of the Chapters. I've shown some friends at school some of your answers, and most have made my friends burst out laughing. :D

Read and review, my dear, amazing, incredible readers!

**_ecto1B_**

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Chapter 17:

Promotion

**Like you may have guessed already, I was not very happy to hear that Shepherd required my presence inside the briefing tent (even if it was only through radio communications). In my opinion, he was a homicidal, insane fruit loop, a psychotic, grudge-holding mule, and a pigheaded traitor. Now, if I decided to actually _call_ him that in front of anyone at Encounter Base, my head would be on a silver platter in milliseconds. Apparently "talking trash" about him would put me in a bad position… though I have a few friends back home in Pensacola who'd also love to throw something at his head, preferably something sharp… Oh well, you can't please everyone. Though I _do_ have a feeling that the number of people who hate Shepherd with a fiery passion is much larger than the few who don't know he's a big fat son of a bitch.**

**Anyway—back to the subject at hand—I was very worried that Shepherd had somehow discovered how much I hated him, and was asking to see me just so he could punish me. But how could he know? Unless he read these notes… _oh shit_…**

**But, in fact, when Ghost and I got to the briefing tent, Shepherd was still on the radio, and apparently he had good news for me. MacTavish was beaming. Price was sitting on a nearby stool, not moving or talking and hardly even blinking. I wondered what his problem was, since he didn't look very happy about something.**

**Then Shepherd told me that he was fortunate to have such an intelligent, fearless soldier under his command, and I asked if he was really talking to me, or was he referring to someone on his end of the line, because so far I hadn't fit the description. (Well, perhaps the real Queen fit it, I wasn't sure.) Much to my surprise, Ghost, Price and MacTavish all laughed at my question. And then MacTavish informed me in between laughs that I was being promoted for my efforts during the favela, oilrig and gulag missions.**

**I was shocked. I actually think I stopped breathing for a moment there. Promoted? As in going up in rank? From Private to Private First Class? It didn't sound logical from my point of view. When I asked Shepherd (through gritted teeth) if this was some sort of joke, he simply said that it wasn't, that I should be proud of myself, and that I was officially a Private First Class.**

**Ghost and MacTavish patted me on the back and showered me with praise. Price dipped his head kindly at me, still glued to that lone stool nearby.**

**Although I was mildly happy, there was one thing that kept pushing its way to the front of my mind. A simple cluster of two short sentences was going to ruin my day, and also wipe away any remnants of being happy about a promotion. And through my barrier of a smile I forced onto my face, I didn't think Ghost, Price or MacTavish could see my guilt.**

**_I don't deserve this_ I thought sadly.**

**_Queen does._**


	18. Argument

Okay, okay. The REASON I haven't updated in a while is-not only because of an OVERLOAD OF HOMEWORK-but because I've been hard at work on the next chapter, which will be THE M CHAPTER! xD

**Question of the Chapter:** If you were the writer of Modern Warfare 3, what would your basic plot be? Shepherd still alive? (HOLY SHIZ NO) Ghost alive? (HOLY SHIZ YES)

MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY MANY thanks to everyone who reviewed so kindly on the last few chapters. Every time I get a new review, I SWEAR I don't stop smiling for the rest of the day. Ask my friends. Ask Kimi 4 Vocaloids here on FanFiction (my BFF in real life). ^_^ She'll tell you I'm always so happy!

Oh, and yes, Scented Of Roses, Mckinley is from Pensacola, Florida! I recently visited there, and man, was it beautiful. I chose it for a few reasons... mostly because while I was there, I got an idea for a sequel... :D

PLEASE READ AND REVIEW!

**_ecto1B_**

WARNING: LANGUAGE AND SLIGHTLY SUGGESTIVE THEMES

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Chapter 18:

**"Argument"**

**Day 5 – 17:22:32**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

"I can't believe it," she breathed, running a hand through her red locks as they cascaded over her left shoulder.

Ghost stifled a laugh. "What, you didn't expect to be promoted?"

Shrugging, she pulled a rubber band from her sweatpants pocket and tied her hair back into a thick ponytail. "I dunno. I wasn't _anticipating_ it, if that's what you mean."

"You've been a private for a long time, though," Ghost countered pointedly. "Even General Shepherd said you were overdue for a promotion. You shouldn't be so surprised."

Mckinley began drumming her fingers on the table in an arrhythmic pattern while she glanced around the mess hall, observing the dining area she would spend every meal in. As of now, the hall was all but empty, save for the four or five cooks shuffling around inside the connecting kitchen. The serving line was almost fully stocked with the food for tonight's dinner. Every so often a man in an apron lumbered out from the kitchen and over to the bar to add some more food to the serving line. He obviously knew that the members of Task Force 141 were starving around this hour and would require an extensive amount of food to keep them quiet.

"Yeah, but why _now_?" Mckinley challenged, coming back to her conversation with Ghost and ignoring the questioning look the cook was flashing her. "I don't think he—"

Ghost was seated across from her, and when she began tapping the table and speaking, he immediately silenced her by pressing his warm gloved hand over hers. Like waves eroding away at a sandy beach's edge, a constant pulse of tingly, bubbly sensations began to nibble at Mckinley's composure. And the sight of his hand on top of hers was a sign—a sign that screamed, "He must have feelings for you!" But almost instantly, Mckinley rid her head of the jumbled random thoughts. She tried hopelessly to stay focused on the subject at hand, not on the fact that Ghost was looking highly captivating in his tight black turtleneck that outlined the muscular, chiseled features of his chest. Or even the fact that the two of them were alone (not counting the wandering cooks) in a room together. No, those thoughts were forbidden… weren't they? Even if they weren't, Mckinley understood that there were more prominent things to be worrying about at a time like this, such as the subject she and Ghost were discussing.

Leaning forward in his chair, Ghost kept his hand firmly on hers as he spoke. "Queen, stop actin' like you never wanted a higher rank, because I know that's not true." His blue eyes locked on hers, glowing sympathetically. "You clearly proved your worth at the gulag, and the favela. Shepherd noticed and took action. There's nothin' to be complaining about. It's done."

Mckinley would've liked to mention that Ghost was wrong; that the only reason she _was_ complaining was because Shepherd had given the promotion to the wrong person. But she held enough restraint to hold her tongue. She feared the new ranking; yet, she felt it necessary to keep her reasoning to herself. If she spoke honestly to Ghost about the issue, it would surely come out that she wasn't the real Queen, and then she'd be in trouble.

Then, there came the guilt factor. This new promotion from Private to Private First Class truly didn't belong to her. Queen had earned it. Yes, Mckinley had been the one fighting through the favela, the oilrig, and the gulag. But Queen had developed a very diverse history in her years in the army, starting off in the Army Rangers and then progressing to the Task Force. All the things Shepherd had praised her for… well, they weren't exactly _her_ doing. It was all Queen.

Mckinley knew she had to do a lot of talking to change the subject, so she began inching her way out of it. "It was just so… _sudden_," she managed finally. "I _guess_ I'm grateful for it and everything, but—"

Ghost patted her hand. "You deserved it, Queen. That's all that matters." He leaned backwards, propping his chair on two legs and putting his arms behind his head. "Just take it easy for right now, eh? I didn't help you shimmy outta Chemo's wrath for nothin'."

She shot him a dirty look. "Hey, be nice to him, Ghost. I know it seems harsh, but Chemo means well. He's just trying to make sure I get healed."

Ghost's brow furrowed above his disapproving eyes at her sentence. "He's doin' a _dodgy_ job of it, shoving tablets down your throat."

"Chemo's _not_ shoving them down my throat!" she protested, her voice rising an octave. _Oh great, we're about to start fighting. I wonder if Ghost and the real Queen have ever argued before?_ She brought her voice back down to its normal level, knowing she had to do everything in her power to prevent herself from bickering with him."Ghost, he's only trying to help," she said calmly. "He's not gonna give me pills that could harm me."

Ghost rolled his eyes. "There you go again, defending the bloody prat." He let his chair fall back onto four legs, resting his elbows on the table. "Don't 'cha ever get tired of protecting his sorry ass?"

She gasped. Hadn't Chemo and Ghost been chatting like best buddies in the infirmary about a half an hour ago? What happened to Ghost's sympathy? His friendliness? His laid-back, humorous personality? Suddenly, everything she truly loved about the masked man had disintegrated and swapped with darker, nasty traits.

"When have _I _defended Chemo before?" she wanted to know. "And the only reason I'm sticking up for him now is because all of a sudden you went all bitchy on him!"

Scoffing, Ghost replied. "Come off it, Queen. Ever since you were accepted into the Task Force, you've sheltered him, and all he's ever done is fancy you." He faltered for merely a second before continuing on. "You don't recall that time you and I were quarreling about Chemo calling you a babe when he'd drank a few? You kept on saying he only said it 'cause he was drunk, but still you didn't believe me when I told you he'd been calling you 'babe' for a while?" Even though Mckinley's jaw had dropped already, Ghost went on with more evidence. "And that time I overheard Royce and Chemo betting money on who would snog you first? You didn't believe me." Irritability shined like daylight atop his British accent. "So don't deny defending him before, Queen, 'cause that's _all_ you _ever_ do."

A pregnant silence filled the air, leaving Mckinley to sort out her thoughts. Ghost still stared sternly across the table at her, awaiting a response or a comeback so he could blast that away as well.

_So Queen must really be friends with Chemo to have stood up for him so many times. I wonder if she has feelings for him, and not Ghost? If that's the case, I'm screwed, aren't I?_

Mckinley managed to shut her jaw before Ghost grew suspicious. She really _wanted_ to tell Ghost that she was actually in love with _him_ and not Chemo, but—though she was a very communicative woman—she didn't feel ready enough to convey her emotions just yet. A trembling movement within the innards of her heart indicated that that moment was yet to come, but definitely not now. So what could she say to him _now _to prove that she was sorry? To prove that she (Queen, rather) hadn't meant to crush his words in the past?

"Look," she began, exhaling and shutting her eyes. Ghost looked at her expectantly. "I'm sorry, okay? I never meant to tune out your warnings about Chemo. I was wrong." She opened her eyes and met his, searching for forgiveness. "But I _don't_ have feelings for Chemo, contrary to popular belief. He's just a friend."

Ghost remained silent. His eyes scanned over Mckinley from her blood-red hair to the portion of her torso visible from overtop the table's edge. Once or twice, his eyes squinted to closely examine her face. Mckinley wondered if he was hunting for any signs that she was lying. It didn't seem like a new technique for him. He was doing it so smoothly; the way his eyes traced across each feature in her face defined "perfection". It was also obvious that Ghost was used to checking for liars during everyday conversation, for there were no flaws in his movements. She kept still, wishing she could perform the same sweep of _his _face.

After two whole minutes of silence, Ghost drew himself back up in his chair. He blinked his pale blue eyes and coughed.

"I believe you," he said finally, speaking much quieter than he had been earlier. "And I'm sorry for my harshness against Chemo. It's just sometimes that muppet gets under my skin with his drinking habits. Though I don't think he'll drink as much with his drinking partner gone."

"Royce?" Mckinley murmured, recalling the man who'd accompanied her to the favela and gotten shot down by Portuguese-shouting militia.

"Yep." Out of nowhere, Ghost hastily glanced around the mess hall and towards the entrance. "We'll continue this conversation later, if you don't mind. We've got very hungry company on their way."

Mckinley nodded and rolled her neck. She heard them too—the men of the 141 weren't exactly quiet. "That's fine. After dinner we'll chat some more."

Right before the sounds of the soldiers reached the mess hall, Ghost stood from his chair and walked around the table. He pulled out the seat to the left of her and sat down.

"_What_ are you doing?" she laughed. All of the tension had evaporated from them, and she was glad of that. She felt much more in love with him when he wasn't being so severe.

"You never said I couldn't keep Chemo from sitting next to you," he stated playfully, giving her a wink that made her heart pound wildly against the inside of her ribcage.

_Oh yeah. I'm definitely in love._


	19. Laundry Day

Okay... so the M chapter got split into 2 parts... this being the first of the two. Guys, it was getting really long. I HAD to cut it off SOMEWHERE. I hope you enjoy this chapter! :D

**A million thanks to my friend Shannon. She helped me with so much of this chapter. Without her, I don't know how this chapter would've turned out. So thank you, Shannon. ^_^**

**Question of the Chapter:** If you could take part in **ONE** MW2 level, what level would you choose? It can be one of the Army Ranger levels, too. Give a reason why you chose the level!

Read and Review! ENJOY!

_**ecto1B**_

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Chapter 19:

**"Laundry Day"**

**Day 5 – 20:01:49**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

"I'll let you catch up with your belongings," Ghost teased, holding the flap of the tent open so he could peer inside. "I know it's been a while since you actually _saw_ any of this stuff." He chuckled softly. "G'night, then?"

Mckinley spun around. "_Wait_, no." She paused. "Can… can you…" Her eyes darted around the tent, searching for some reason to make him meet her somewhere later. And once her eyes landed upon the dirty clothes hamper in the corner, she knew what to say. "Can you meet me at the laundry building in five minutes?"

He tilted his head in confusion. "_Why_, exactly?"

For some strange reason, Mckinley was taking pleasure in the sight of Ghost standing at her doorway, staring over at her from overtop the stitched fabric of his balaclava with enthralling blue eyes. It sent a throbbing rawness inching down her spine.

"I… uh… don't want to do my laundry alone in the dark," she lied, wringing her hands together nervously. In reality, it wasn't a complete fib. She literally was having second thoughts about being left alone in the base.

His eyes rolled in disbelief. "_Don't _tell me you're scared. This is probably the safest place on Earth! There are over thirty One-Four-One soldiers in the barracks, and 'Tavish, Price and I have tents not even twenty yards away from yours. Nothin' is gonna happen to you with us nearby."

"Ghost?"

He sighed, feigning annoyance. "What?"

"_Please_?"

"Queen, I just told you that—"

"I know, I know you just said it was safe here," she cut him off quickly. "But we just got back, and I'd like to be better safe than sorry when wandering around the base at night." Mckinley smiled. "And no one's gonna hurt me when you're around."

Much to her delight, he gave in quickly. Ghost shook his head and sighed in defeat.

"Fine," he sarcastically groaned.

She flashed him a grateful smile. "Thanks, Ghostie. I really appreciate it." Sitting down on the cot, she took her ponytail in her fingers and tugged the rubber band from its hold on her red hair. "I'll meet you there in five."

"Okay." Ghost began to let the tent flap fall before he walked away, but he stopped in his tracks and glanced back inside the tent. "Just a reminder, Queen: we're not really supposed to be leaving our tents after sundown, even to do laundry."

Mckinley stretched the rubber band onto her wrist for later and raised her eyebrows at Ghost. "So?"

Chuckling, Ghost shook his head again. "I tried." He released his grip on the flap and trudged off into the settling darkness that was slowly consuming Encounter Base.

When he was gone, Mckinley decided to take inventory of her tent. MacTavish had explained earlier that because she was the only female member of the Task Force, a tent had been assembled for her to use. It was surely better than spending the night with men who strolled around with parts exposed. _And_ Shepherd had apparently demanded it.

The tent wasn't anything fancy. A cot with a small flat pillow sat at one end of the tent, while a foldable table and chair were set up at the other end. The real Queen had obviously tried to stay organized, for the papers resting on the table were set up to resemble failed attempts at categorizing. There was also a lamp that gave off meager amounts of light, and a wastebasket overflowing with college-ruled crumples of paper. Mckinley went over to the table and sat down, letting her eyes scan across the papers. (After all, they _were_ hers, weren't they?) Most of the papers were simple military paperwork, discussing natural TF141 behavior and protocol. But one pile of papers caught her attention, all addressed to a certain Pfc. Joseph Allen. Mckinley scooped up the top letter and began reading…

_Pfc. Joseph Allen,_

_I'm worried about you, Jo. The mission you described to me sounds absolutely horrific, and I have no idea why Shepherd would want you following through with such task. Working with Makarov? Shepherd must be insane to think you'll make it out of there alive. I understand how much respect you'll gain after completing it, but… Jo, I fear for your safety. What if Makarov finds out you're not Alexei Borodin? Oh God, Joseph, you better be careful._

_I don't know why you still want to know about my life, when yours is in danger, but I don't want to argue with you._

_Things are interesting here at the base. Chemo's still getting himself drunk… man, I wish you were here so you could kick his ass when he's drunk. He's a good friend and all, but he could use a little help. I can't keep shielding him when Shepherd comes to call. I know he cares about me and all, but he's the medical officer! Shouldn't he know better than to drink?_

_The masked guy you were referring to? Yeah, that's Ghost. He's a good guy. We didn't get along at first, but eventually the ice sort of broke, and we talk everyday now. You have nothing to worry about, Jo. I know his skull mask makes him seem threatening, but he does have a heart and a sense of humor. And he's not the betraying type. Apparently he's had a really screwed-up life… so I heard from one of the guys. I wonder what happened?_

_When you finish your undercover mission, you'll be coming here, won't you? You're a member of the Task Force now, right? I can't wait to see you! It's been so long since we chatted face-to-face. We'll definitely have to catch up. You'll tell me about how everyone is back at Firebase Phoenix? Foley? Dunn?_

_Please be careful, Jo. Check your corners and don't make Makarov mad. Just kill him and get it over with. I'm waiting for you here. I know you'll love Encounter Base._

_Love you, Jo._

_Pvt. 'Queen'_

After reading, Mckinley dropped the letter onto the table and leaned back in the chair. She covered her eyes with her hands and took slow, deep breaths, feeling a rush of misery spiral through her. Queen and Joseph Allen—the man who'd been killed by Makarov—had been best friends. It was such a depressing awareness. Evidently, they'd worked alongside each other at Firebase Phoenix, but then went their separate ways when Queen was transferred to the 141. And then Shepherd had chosen Allen to become the undercover agent in the Moscow airport massacre. Queen had probably meant to send the letter before Allen left for the mission, but she'd never gotten the chance, and then he was dead. Taken from this world by a bullet that should never have been shot. At that instant, Mckinley knew Makarov was truly evil; evil for destroying such a beautiful friendship with no remorse. He'd not seen the gravity of his actions; he'd not seen Queen's reaction to Allen's death, nor had he seen the hatred she'd felt or the excruciating pain that devoured her inner self. Poor Queen had probably sobbed herself to sleep, with the image of Allen's face smiling at her from an unreachable spot in the sky.

There were also traces of wet spots dotting the paper, as if someone had read the letter while they were crying. Mckinley felt the same tears forming in her eyes, feeling awful for the woman she was pretending to be. She wondered how many nights Queen had sat at the table, clutching the letter in her hands; her eyes blurry and her cheeks stained with salty tears. Just the thought of it made Mckinley's urge to cry strengthen. War was malicious. It had taken away Queen's friend without a second glance, letting the rest of the world deal with the results. The Russians were howling at the massacre; America was being stabbed to death and—very slowly—losing its ability to scream for help. Allen's death proved it. And Queen's pain would only be the first of many.

"Queen?"

Whirling around in the chair, Mckinley's eyes rested on Ghost's powerfully-built body standing in the entrance to her tent. She shook herself fiercely from her distressing thoughts and stood up from the chair.

"Oh—hey, Ghost," she croaked. When she noticed his blue eyes scrutinizing her face curiously, she lowered her head and stepped over to the laundry hamper. "Sorry, I got distracted."

"Yeah, you weren't showing up at the building, so I—_hang on_." Ghost walked further into the tent and grasped her shoulder tightly. She glanced downward even more, hiding her reddening face. "Look at me for a second."

"Ghost, it's nothing—"

Abruptly, he used a gloved finger to lift her chin. Their eyes locked, and his grew wide with realization.

"You were crying." It wasn't a question.

"No, I wasn't—"

"Don't lie to me, Queen." Ghost's British accent was thick and humorless, but showed traces of concern. "I want to know why you were crying. What happened?"

Mckinley bit her lip. She didn't want to explain to him about the letter she'd found, because, again, it hadn't been her who'd known Allen. She was just reading Queen's letter. And she didn't think she could pretend she'd written such a sad note to a dead friend…

"I… I was just… just thinking about home," she lied. "About my family and friends. I don't know, it was stupid." Mckinley reached down to pick up the overflowing hamper, but Ghost beat her to it, lugging it onto his left shoulder.

"I don't think it's stupid," Ghost told her, using his free hand to hold open the tent flap as she stepped outside. "You miss them. Cryin' about it ain't gonna make you see them any faster, but it helps heal some of the pain."

The two of them headed a short distance over to a separate section of the barracks where the laundry machines were located. The little building stood alone from the barracks, but was made of the same rugged material and also had the same design aspects as the sleeping quarters. Through the portal-like window, you could make out the dim lighting that lined the washing machines on one end—dryers on the other. Mckinley had never been inside, and she hoped the machines were efficient enough to handle the bundle of laundry in the hamper (most of the clothes were Queen's).

"If crying heals the pain, then I'll have to cry more often," Mckinley shakily joked, letting Ghost also open the laundry building door for her. "I miss them all like heck."

Inside the building, it was dusky and grimy. The groundskeepers had obviously not attended to it in quite some time. The tile floor was painted in dried muddy boot prints; water from evaporated snow also sloshed along the grooves in the floor. The light bulbs in the fixtures weakly strained to illuminate the space. On the other hand, the laundry machines appeared untouched. Except for the occasional handprint or dirt smudge on the knobs, the pearly-white machines showed no trace of soldiers ever using them. Which probably meant that the men were too lazy to wash their clothes… Mckinley shuddered and made a face.

_Ew. These men need WOMEN to help them do laundry._

Ghost went over to the row of washers and set her basket on top of the nearest one. He then went over to the wall and tried flicking the switch to get more light. Nothing.

"Not many people use the laundry machines any more, if you can believe it," Ghost joked, giving up on the prospect of more light. "We're never here long enough to clean anything to its fullest."

"That's so _disgusting_!" Mckinley made another face as she carefully avoided slipping in all the brown-tinted water. "The barracks must _reek_ if no one cleans anything."

"I try to limit my visits over there so I don't smell any of it." Ghost chuckled and opened one of the washing machine hatches. "You need me to help you load?"

Before he could even reach his hand towards the basket, Mckinley slid it away. Just in case there was something like a bra or underwear inside, she really didn't want him rummaging through it. _Better safe than sorry, dammit. _

"I've got it," Mckinley insisted, kneeling down on the tile and shoving a few piles of clothes into the washing machine. "All I need you to do is stay here."

He stifled a laugh and crossed his arms across his chest. "Remind me why, again?"

She loaded the last handfuls of clothes into the machine and stood up, brushing at her sweatpants. "Because I don't want to be out here alone." She leaned over the washing machine's edge and started the wash cycle.

Ghost put his hand on the door handle. "So, if I were to—let's say—_leave_ all of a sudden…" His eyes sparked mischievously.

"No!" Mckinley blurted, springing towards him to stop him from opening the door. She knew he was just kidding, but the likelihood of both of them being in happier moods required her to play along. Like two young children at play, Mckinley and Ghost began tussling against each other to see who was strongest: Ghost, with his hand on the door, or Mckinley, who would try to prevent him from opening it. Soon, sharp cries of laughter filled the inside of the laundromat when Mckinley found that tickling under Ghost's arms made him weaker and unable to turn the door handle. Ghost's body shook uncontrollably as she tickled him; his shoulders quivering. And finally, when he was forced to let go of the door handle so he could push her away, the loud bout of laughter died down.

Mckinley took a step away from her tickle victim, pleased with the results. He would never again dare try to leave her. She put her hands on her hips and shifted her weight to her right leg, lifting her head upward heroically. On the losing side, Ghost was using the wall for support, clutching his stomach and catching his breath. He blinked slowly, staring at the ground and restraining himself from breaking out into laughter again. Mckinley's heart beat with pride, completely satisfied with how flirtatious her act had been. Maybe he'd try to get revenge?

"Curses…" Ghost breathed, still managing to be comedic. His blue eyes flooded with amusement. "You've… found my weakness…"

Mckinley went along with it. She started pacing back and forth in front of him. "_Yes_! I have found it! And now you are _mine_ to control!"

"Bloody hell!" he exclaimed, fake fear in his voice. "What are you gonna do to me?"

Slowly, she sauntered up to his hunched frame and pushed his back against the wall so he wouldn't move. The direction this playful banter was heading in was highly appealing, and she was willing to see how far she could take it…

"Hmm…" She tapped her chin in deep consideration, thinking of the worst punishment she could give her helpless target. "How about I make you run around the base nude?"

Ghost appeared to see a deeper meaning in their twisted wordplay. His voice got a bit quieter. "And if I refuse?" he murmured.

Mckinley's gaze drifted to a shelf nearby. A lone spray bottle sat atop it, collecting dust. She grinned.

"I might have to squirt you with that spray bottle," she replied, motioning her head towards it. Ghost followed her gaze.

"Hmm… a spray bottle…" He titled his head a bit. "Painful, yet tolerable. What if I resist your incessant torture?"

Mckinley giggled, turning a gentle shade of red. "You can't resist me, and you know it!" she declared swiftly. Immediately, she felt like curling into the fetal position and becoming invisible. What had possessed her to say what she did? Now Ghost would think she was a creeper!

_I should've held my tongue…_

Much to her astonishment, Ghost's reply was not full of disgust or shock. Surprisingly, it was highly revealing and quite flirtatious.

"So you know that _too_? What else do you know about me?"

Her blood ran hot as fire beneath her skin, and adrenaline that had been left over from the gulag started pumping into her veins. So he _couldn't_ resist her. Did that mean he loved her?

"Well…" Mckinley left one of her hands to pin him against the wall, letting the other travel up his chest and to the base of his mask. "I know that this mask _actually_ comes off to reveal a rather adorable face beneath it…" Her fingers clutched the mask and began dragging it up his face. A pale neck became visible, and then a chin, a pair of thin lips, a nose, captivating blue eyes, and then a thick tuft of dirty-blonde hair at the top of his head. Patches of crimson were already surging in his cheeks when the mask came off, and she felt herself echo the scarlet color on her own face. He was absolutely gorgeous. Resembling Ewan McGregor—the hot Scottish actor she'd fell in love with two years ago—Ghost made many handsome men look unattractive and plain. There was a glory about him that had already begun to drive her mad with want.

"Alright," said Ghost, and Mckinley was blown away by the sight of his actual mouth forming words without the protection of a skull mask. "You've tickled me to death, threatened me with unthinkable punishments, and removed my mask." A crooked smile brimmed on his lips. "What else are you going to do?"

"Your choice," she answered politely. "More tickling, torture or threats?"

Suddenly, Ghost's hands flew to Mckinley's waist, and he pulled her right up against him. Though she was pushing him firmly on the wall, his grip was powerful and forceful. As Mckinley tried not to swoon, Ghost brought his lips to her ear.

"Actually, I was enjoying the torture," he whispered suggestively, his fingers digging into the lower of her back. "Why don't you continue with that?"

There was that faint trace of irresistibleness dripping against his accent that was making her go insane. And that crooked smile placed so perfectly on his mouth was just begging to be caressed. She couldn't help herself. Cautiously, she removed her hand on his shoulder and brought it to touch his lips. The lips were like foreign objects to her; never before had she seen Ghost's lips, and she stroked them as if they were holy. They'd forever been locked behind the barrier that was his skull balaclava, and now they'd been uncloaked. Not a mirage, but a fleshy object. They fascinated her. Gently, she traced her pointer finger along the grooves of his lips, feeling the skin's pitted texture. Mckinley could feel his jagged breaths when his lips parted slightly, and she let her hand stroke down from his lips to his neck, skimming his chin along the way. Ghost seemed to freeze when she touched him, not at all accustomed to the feel of her hand on his bare skin. When her hand came to a stop at the top of his chest, pushing away the heavy tan scarf swathing his neck, Ghost shut his eyes. His face appeared to be steadily falling towards hers; the sound of the washing machine working in the background had waned and melted into the seductive silence of the moment. Now, in the massive world full of war, blood, and death, there existed only two. Mckinley and Ghost. Or—as _he_ perceived—Queen and Ghost.

"I know this is wrong," Ghost admitted quietly as their foreheads rested against each other; their noses remained centimeters apart from meeting in the middle. Each breath Mckinley took swept itself into Ghost's mouth, and the same went for the opposite. "I know I forbid myself from becoming attached to anyone after I lost my family. I promised myself that I would keep everyone at arm's length so I wouldn't have to deal with the pain of losing them." He hesitated, keeping his eyes shut but acting as if both of them were staring into each other's faces intently. "But—slowly—you're changing me. Instead of an evil society that is stocked with liars, cheats, drunks and murderers, I see light. I see goodness that I never stopped to discover before." Ghost opened one eye to make sure he met his target, planting a single kiss atop her nose. "You don't fear the mask, the man, or the man behind the mask. And now, thanks to you, neither do I."

Mckinley giggled when he kissed her nose. She perfectly understood what Ghost's words conveyed, and felt honored to know she'd contributed to his reawakening. After all, his history was terrifying. To finally overcome such a detrimental past was a true accomplishment.

"You aren't evil, Ghost," she told him. "There are so many parts about you that you're regarding as flaws, when most are really just human error. You have every right to hate the people in your life who harmed you, who hindered you, who told you that you couldn't do anything. But avoiding the handful of friends who love you—well, I'm glad you've put doing that aside." Mckinley patted his cheek with her hand. "'Cause, Ghost… I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I gotta admit… you make staying away from you a living hell. I don't want to ever leave your side." She paused, taking a deep breath. "Ghost… I—"

Mckinley's sentence was cut off by a loud explosion of a sound nearby.

_The door to the laundromat burst open._

Frightened, Mckinley buried her face in Ghost's chest and tried her hardest not to make a sound. Ghost flattened against the wall, pulling her towards him. Their view of the doorway was partially obstructed by a protruding cabinet, but Mckinley could make out a slight outline of the intruder's face from the dark shadow on the wall.

_**It was Chemo.**_

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**DUNN DUNN **

See what I did there? Haha Dunn from MW2 wouldn't be happy. Anyway, REVIEW PLEASE!


	20. Intervention

I'm really sorry this chapter took FOREVER. I had Writer's Block for like three whole days straight, and then I had the Graduation Exam (why am I taking this at the beginning of the year? No clue.) and THEN I had a bunch of other tests to study for... GHAAAA SCHOOL IS SOMETIMES WICKED EVIL!

_Just want to let you all know that I've been posting a short UPDATE on my profile each day to let you guys in on the next chapter. Just check in daily there, instead of continually going to the story and checking for a new update. I usually update my profile every day after school, so it won't MAGICALLY be there all the time._

SORRY THAT THIS CHAPTER IS NOT THE OFFICIAL M CHAPTER. That will be coming soon! Everything came together differently than I had planned...

**Question of the Chapter (To be answered after you've finished reading this chapter, obviously.): **The last thing Ghost says in this chapter... y'know, that sentence he asks Queen? Well, if he asked YOU that question, what would your response be? (**This is obviously only for those who are attracted to Ghost, as in attracted to guys in general. Sorry!**)

LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH! READ AND REVIEW!

**_ecto1B_**

******WARNING: RATED M FOR HARSH LANGUAGE**

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Chapter 20:

**"Intervention"**

**Day 5 – 20:53:03**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

Standing in the moonlit doorway of the base's laundromat, Chemo was an absolute mess. One gloved hand clasped an excessively smoky cigarette, while the other wrapped around a half-empty bottle of Baltika: a dark Russian beer. The way Chemo held himself determined that he was in the midst of getting drunk, but not yet fully intoxicated. Every time he brought his lips to the rim of the beer bottle, he grew closer to that hazardous edge. Mckinley could also tell this by the appearance of his emerald-shaded eyes, for they were rolling around lazily in their sockets, tinted with exhaustion. Shoulders sagging, clothes drooping off his brawny arms and torso… Mckinley wondered if Chemo always looked like this when he was under the influence. The nightmarish sight was so depressing, she felt obliged to pray to God for Chemo's appalling acts. Did Chemo know any better? She, personally, hadn't known him long enough to know the answer.

_To have your best friend murdered by Makarov, and then to come home every day to a constantly drunk friend… man, Queen must be a fricken' ANGEL to put up with all this crap._

Burping after taking another sip of the beer, Chemo called out into the badly-lit laundry room.

"Queen?" he croaked, somehow managing to place the cigarette between his lips using his shaky arms. The stick let off a sooty puff, scattering the grey cloud into the room's air and forcing Mckinley to suppress a cough. "You in here, babe?"

Ghost let a faint growl of irritation when Chemo said "babe."

"C'mon, girl, I know you're in here." Another cloud of smoke filled the area around Chemo's face. "What are you doing here, anyway? It's really… really late."

Mckinley glanced up at the unmasked man above her, frowning. When she mouthed the words "We're screwed," Ghost broke into a smile and hugged her tighter to his well-defined chest. Behind his black turtleneck, Mckinley could feel the placid thumping of his heart against hers, and she felt her own beat begin to speed up rapidly from infatuation. There—sealed in the cloak of her lover's arms—there really was no need to be afraid, she realized. So what if Chemo found them locked in an intense embrace? What was there to be afraid of? Makarov could barge in, too, and she wouldn't care. Ghost was openly displaying his emotions to her, and she was on top of the world.

Her fantastical contemplation was partially ruined by Ghost pressing his lips to her damp forehead.

"Go hide in that closet," he instructed softly, indicating a pair of before-unnoticed double doors along the wall. "Stay there until I say otherwise. I'll get rid of the piss-artist."

"But—"

Before she could fit in a protest or even ask what he was planning, Ghost had released his protective grip on her and nudged her in the direction of the closet. She turned around to say something, but Ghost silenced her with his hand over her mouth.

"Just go," he whispered.

"Wait!" she hissed from behind his hand. "Why—"

"Queen?" Chemo's head whipped in the direction of the sound. He chugged the last of the beer and kept the bottle in his hand for self-defense. "Is that you?"

"_Hurry_!" Ghost demanded sternly, reaching down to pick up his balaclava from the filthy tile floor. He flashed her a pleading look, then slipped the mask back over his handsome pale face. Restraining a groan, Mckinley ducked inside the cramped supply closet and shut the doors behind her. Through a narrow crack in the left door, she watched—bewildered—as Ghost snatched up a box of old laundry detergent from inside a cabinet.

_What the hell is he doing?_

Chemo was nearing Ghost's hiding spot behind the cabinets at a brisk pace, and Mckinley felt her breath hitch in her throat when Chemo's eyes scanned across the shadows concealing the masked man.

_What is he planning? How is he going to prevent Chemo from finding me?_

And then, as Chemo passed the cabinet he was standing behind, Ghost stepped out from the shadows with the detergent box in his hands. His eyes were glazed with an innocent, careless stare, but a mischievous wink aimed her way proved he knew _exactly_ what he was doing… even though _she_ had no clue.

Chemo reacted like anyone would. He recoiled instantly, waving the empty beer bottle in front of him like a dagger. The steps he took backwards were a bit wobbly, but he remained on his feet, prepared to defend himself against the intruder. Seconds passed, and soon his eyes squinted to recognize his lieutenant before him.

"Good God, sir!" Chemo gasped, lowering the bottle and regaining his balance. "You… you startled me."

_Well, no duh. Hmm, a man wearing a black skull mask pops out of nowhere in the middle of a dark room, and you're "startled." OF COURSE YOU'RE STARTLED. I'd call you insane if you weren't!_ Mckinley suppressed a snicker. _Wow, you must __**really**__ get drunk, Chemo. Your mind isn't quite as up to par as usual._

"Sorry 'bout that," Ghost apologized nonchalantly. "Didn't mean to scare 'ya." He gazed down at the dusty box in his hand. "I was just doing some late-night laundry, and I couldn't find the detergent." Ghost's eyes grazed over Chemo's cigarette and hollow beer bottle. "Up for a drink and a smoke, eh?"

Taking a puff, Chemo replied. "I'm actually looking for Queen, believe it or not. She was supposed to come back to the infirmary after dinner, but she never showed up."

Mckinley cursed under her breath. _Dammit. I forgot._

Ghost acted as if he was unaffected by Chemo's news, though Mckinley could tell by his standoffish, punctured tone that it had slipped his mind as well. She had to admit, Ghost was skilled in the art of camouflaging his emotions. From analyzing Chemo's facial expression, he seemed to have not noticed anything peculiar regarding Ghost's tart reply. "Maybe she wanted to sleep in her tent," he offered. "Her legs were feeling much better after you gave her those pills. She coulda' managed by herself."

"I checked her tent. She wasn't there."

"Maybe she's in the bathhouse?"

"Nope. Checked there, too."

"Mess hall?"

Chemo sighed. "Nope."

"Running the course?"

"At _night_? Queen running the course?" Laughing, Chemo fit a few hiccups into his bout. "Ghost, be honest. Do you _really_ think someone like her will be staying up late to do _exercise_?"

Mckinley was caught completely off guard by her friend's nasty comment. She slammed her hands on her hips and gave Chemo a death-glare through the wooden door. That statement had been insulting and uncalled for. And apparently, Ghost thought so, too.

"Come off it, Harrison," Ghost murmured darkly, using Chemo's real last name to demonstrate his frigid seriousness. "You don't have to talk about a teammate like that." Mckinley felt her heart leap inside her chest cavity as he stood up for her. "She wouldn't be talking about you like that, and _you're_ the resident alcoholic."

The cigarette in Chemo's lip was diminishing with each blow he took. By now, the reek of the smoke had drifted across the room and over to her hiding spot in the closet. Mckinley squeezed her nostrils shut with her fingers and narrowed her eyes.

_I will not sneeze. I will not sneeze._

"What's your problem, Ghost?" Chemo inquired lazily, leaning his elbow on the running washing machine full of Mckinley's clothes. "Usually you're really cool about stuff. Y'know, easygoing and laid-back." A vile simper curled itself onto his mouth like a serpent. "What's got you acting all pissy?"

Ghost lowered his head, restraining himself from firing back a retort. "Corporal," he began slowly. "I do _not _permit my men to talk to me like that. I ask that you remember who you are speaking with before things get outta hand."

Behind the door, Mckinley pumped her fist. _Go Ghost! Playing the "I'm Higher Than You On The Military Food Chain" card! Smart move!_

Though the card was played, Chemo seemed to set the effect alight with another smoke cloud. It was as if Ghost hadn't even spoken—Chemo just went on talking to him like he was lower in rank and juvenile.

"Woah, _something's_ sure got you worked up. What, did you ask Queen to do it with you and she refused?" Scoffing, Chemo rubbed his neck. "'Cause, _hell_, that would certainly piss off a _lot_ of guys here."

Ghost just about exploded. The box of detergent fell downward, sending most of its contents spilling over his combat boots and mixing in with the puddles of muddy water coating the floor. Mckinley also saw Ghost's hands become fists of fury in milliseconds, ready to pummel Chemo to the ground. She shivered. This would not end well.

"_Again_, I request that you speak to me with _respect_, Harrison."

"_Respect_, sir?" Each sneer exiting Chemo's lips was accompanied by a trail of black vapor. He reminded Mckinley of a fire-breathing dragon, licking his lips and locking his eyes on the subject of his taunting; the cold gleam sparking in his eyes were like labyrinthine hallways that only someone as talented as Ghost could maneuver himself out of. Then, Mckinley's attention was brought to the empty bottle in Chemo's hand, how it was being held dangerously like a knife. What if the conversation grew into more than a verbal fight? That bottle could crack against Ghost's cranium and cause major skull damage if he wasn't careful. Chemo surely wasn't stupid enough to try something like that, though… _right?_ And even if Chemo tried to attack, Ghost's reflexes were much more advanced than his. He could fend his own. He could block any attack. He wouldn't let that bottle anywhere near him.

"Chemo, I do realize that you are near intoxication. But I still expect you to show _respect_ towards your C.O." Ghost crossed his arms. "You will be expelled from the Task Force if—"

"You know what?" The man wagged a grimy finger in Ghost's face. "I know what's got you so pissed. _You're jealous._ You're jealous of me, _sir_," he added hotly, emphasizing the word to only further aggravate Ghost. "You have the hots for Queenie, and whenever I call her babe and say she's sexy, you get jealous." He kept his finger pointing at Ghost's balaclava, not noticing the intense hatred burning in those pale blue eyes. "And you know what else?" Chemo paused, letting the words sink in. "I don't believe you're a very good influence for her. You're messed up in the head, right? Some shit happened to you in the past, and all you've done is hide behind a scary mask. Why are you suddenly first in line to have her? You _fucking __scare_ everyone _shitless_. There's not a sensible bone in your body! You shouldn't be the one to have Queen. Someone normal should. _I _should."

Mckinley couldn't take it any longer. With each crushing word spewing from between his teeth, her knuckles turned whiter while her nails dug into her palms. Her eyes became black coals, searing with fresh fire. The hatred she felt eclipsed any ability for rational, sane thought. This was war. Chemo was _not_ going to bully the man she loved any longer. Nor would he get away with those offensive comments about her. If he were to remain her friend, he would learn to not degrade her. For a moment, Mckinley struggled to find any reason for Queen to have dealt with him so often. If he was like this every night, she'd scream.

Disregarding Ghost's earlier demand, Mckinley burst from the closet before the two men were locked in combat. She leapt between them—arms spread wide—and narrowed her eyes at the trash-talking soldier before her. Shock was apparent in his eyes, but she didn't care. Enough was enough.

"Shut up, you drunk bastard!" she spat. "If anyone's the bad influence around here, it's the wild alcoholic with _no manners_ and _a dirty mouth_!"

Chemo flinched at the insults she fired back, cringing when the term 'alcoholic' was used.

Mckinley responded by taking a step closer to him. Their faces were now inches apart; he was backed up against one of the washing machines, and she was drawing nearer to add emphasis. Ghost displayed no intention of stopping her, which was a surprise. Hadn't he wanted to "handle" this on his own?

"Chemo, I'm tired of this!" she went on. "You get drunk, and then you let your mouth run like a broken faucet. You're one of the medical officers here, and you still don't realize how bad your drinking habits have become! That's really dangerous! What if you're drunk and someone needs you to mend their wound with stitches?"

"I d-don't drink during the d-daytime," Chemo sputtered quickly.

"But what if I were to accidentally hit my head on something, and I needed stitches right there and then? What if it couldn't wait until you were _effing_ sober?"

"The other medical officer, Doc, could—"

"What if something happens to him, and he can't work? And you become the only capable person to sew stitches? _What then_?"

Suddenly, Mckinley felt a hand on the lower of her back. Glancing over her shoulder, she let her grey eyes find Ghost's blue ones, cautioning her to tread lightly in the direction she was headed. _The consequences will be painful if you slip this up_ his eyes warned her. _You could lose a friend._

_I'm being careful_ she shot back mentally, hoping he understood.

_Whatever you say. _Nodding, Ghost began massaging along her spine, removing his gaze from hers and returning to glare at Chemo over Mckinley's shoulder.

Chemo never responded to her inquiry about the stitches. He was examining the toes of his shoes with interest, trying to block out any more of Mckinley's comments. His face had turned a deep shade of red from the overpowering guilt she was making him feel.

"Look, Chemo, you're definitely not a bad guy," Mckinley said softly; the anger in her eyes depleted somewhat. "You just need to work harder at purging yourself from a nasty habit, that's all. You need to think about the aftereffect your wild drinking might cause." The tone in her voice darkened. "_And_ you could work on not insulting team members behind their backs… _and_ showing more respect to higher ranks."

Chemo shuffled his feet. "I know…" He sighed, glancing up. Behind the hazy emerald color of his irises, sincere remorse gleamed radiantly. "I'm sorry, Queen…" Ghost cleared his throat, and Chemo's eyes widened. "Oh, and _sir_, I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to—"

Abruptly, Ghost interrupted Chemo's rant by pointing to the laundromat door. His blue eyes were stern. "You can save your apologies for another time, Corporal. Right now, I think you should be heading back to the barracks before anyone notices you're gone."

_Wait, what the hell is Ghost doing? Chemo's saying he's sorry!_ Mckinley flashed Ghost a bewildered scowl, but the masked man paid no attention to her. He had something up his sleeve, apparently.

Chemo opened his mouth to object, but—realizing it would be a bad move—he immediately shut it, dipped his head to his C.O., forced a smile in Mckinley's direction, and plodded out the door.

Silence.

"Ghost?" she turned around and crossed her arms. "What the hell was that? He was _apologizing_! Why'd you make him leave?"

Ghost yanked his mask off and stuffed it in a random pocket of his Kevlar vest, making Mckinley's skin prickle and her heart pound yearningly away. At that moment, she wished she possessed a photographic memory. All the details of his face would take too long to memorize without it, though she was sure she could stare at him for hours. How could someone so perfect hide behind such an eccentric mask? And why hide _that_ face?

"He was about to start ranting," Ghost explained. "I didn't want to hear it; he's already driven me spare with his profane comments 'bout you."

"_Great_," Mckinley murmured sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "So now he's gonna feel bad about it _all_ night."

"Which will prevent him from drinking any more booze," added Ghost, leaning on a washing machine and pulling Mckinley over to lay on his chest. "He's learned his lesson."

Sighing, Mckinley snuggled closer to him and shut her eyes. "I hope so. He was _really_ getting on my nerves with some of that stuff he said."

"Like claiming I asked you to have it off with me?" he chuckled, peering down at her.

"Yeah… _wait_, what are you referring to?" She had a feeling she understood, but his weird British lingo could get pretty cryptic when it wanted to be. She just wanted to be sure she'd heard him right.

"Oh… I forgot you're from America." He laid his chin on the top of her head. "I was talking about when Chemo said I was pissy because I might've asked you to 'do it' with me, as you Americans put it… is that right?"

She groaned and shuddered. "_Sadly_, yes."

Without warning, Ghost took her hands and stepped her back so they were face-to-face. A bemused expression hung on his Ewan McGregor-like face.

"Hang on—what's the matter with that sorta stuff?" He frowned. "You not the kind to talk about it?"

Her eyes darted about the laundry room in a frenzy. _Oh God, is he gonna think I'm some sort of person who fears sex? Great… that's just what I need… to be considered a coward. _"Uh… nothing's the matter," she muttered evasively. "I don't know… I mean, I _can_ talk about it, it's just—"

Ghost took that moment to interrupt her with one of the most alarming sentences Mckinley had ever heard. At any other time, during any other conversation with any other person, she'd know they were just joking; just trying to make her laugh, trying to break the tension between them. But, with Ghost's entire face flooding with passion and his grip on her hands growing firmer by the second, Mckinley knew that Ghost wasn't messing around. He was _deadly_ serious.

"So…" he hesitated only for a millisecond before continuing, "What if I asked you to have it off with me _right now_?"

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**DUNN DUNN DUNN**

Man, Dunn is not gonna be happy that I used this thing twice. XD


	21. Yes

I HAD to put this together to make up for the delayed M chapter. I HAD to. I felt really bad that I've been pushing it back... so **THE NEXT CHAPTER WILL 100000000000% BE THE M CHAPTER. I SWEAR.**

**^.^ **I'm also sorta happy that I'm making you all anxious for an update! It makes me happy! XD

**RESPONSES**

**xXdeathsangelXx**- Lol yeah, I don't know WHO IN THE HECK would say no! They be ca-waaazy! ^_^

**Fenlon**- I love how polite your answer was. "Yes please." XD Made my day.

**MW2LVR**- 100% agree with you. Massacre his lips. Sounds like a plan!

**Dragonmorph**- Yes, Dunn is having his shining moment... XD he's my favorite in the Army Rangers (he's HAWT!) Glad it makes you laugh!

**Dunedain789**- Best chapter ever? Eh, chapter 22 will be your favorite chapter... XD I guarantee it.

**Emily 'Gadget' Robins**- Mckinley isn't screwing anything up. You can tell by this chapter :D Oh, btw, LOVING your story "Habits!" I haven't had time to review, but I DO love it. XD

**Arhani Daforcena**- I can see why you like Makarov and MacTavish better *wink wink*. So Ghost is mine, if that's fair. XD

**Scented of Roses-** Aww, I HOPE I'm not killing you with the wait! You're one of my favorite reviewers! LOL man, isn't Dunn AMAZING? Oh well, he can deal with my using-his-name-to-simulate-random-suspenseful-music.

**QUESTION OF THE CHAPTER: **So far, what's your favorite part of this story? I want honest opinions! XD I'm just asking this so I can get a good idea on where to insert One-Shots later on...

Love you all! Read, enjoy, and review!

**_ecto1B_**

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Chapter 21:

Yes

_Mckinley Front_

**Desperate.**

**A word meaning "Showing extreme urgency or intensity especially because of great need or desire."**

**Yeah. That was Ghost.**

**I'm not quite sure how I picked up on it, but something about the way his eyes hungrily tore across my body betrayed him. I almost expected him to lick his lips, to wring his hands, to growl even. Yes. That was Ghost. Looking like an underfed male model (Had to throw that in there somewhere) in a skintight (sexy) black turtleneck that exhibited his flawlessly sculpted abs.**

**How could I say no to that?**

* * *

**Lt. Ghost**

_It was as if a single lamp had been switched on above our heads._

_I really don't know what possessed me to ask Queen that random question. It had seemed like she had been leading into it, just waiting for me to suggest it. Her timid words and body language were giving off the vibe that she wanted to._

_But how should I know? Yes, I drabbled a bit through high school, but I learned my lesson. I hadn't had any relations with a woman in a few years. Maybe I was a bit rusty. Maybe I had interpreted the signs wrong. Maybe she wasn't ready?_

* * *

_Mckinley Front_

**Silence stretched between us as I debated on what to say. Yes… no… yes… no… I went back and forth in my mind. Good things, bad things… there was no end to the list I was creating. I really didn't want to say no, that was the problem. If I said yes, things would get going and I was worried I'd embarrass myself somehow. Only once had I gone that far with a guy, and it had been a year ago. What if I messed up? Would he not like me any more? Had Ghost ever done it? He seemed confident enough…**

**Still, I continued to debate.**

* * *

**Lt. Ghost**

_She was truly beautiful. That's really what I meant earlier when I said a lamp had suddenly turned on above us. Seeing her true beauty was spectacular. Her long, thick, blood-red hair… her wide grey-hued eyes… her elegant hourglass frame… she was much unlike any woman I'd ever encountered._

_But not only was she appealing on the outside, she was absolutely gorgeous on the inside as well. Flaws didn't matter. A fear of being underwater was easily disregarded. "Caring too much" for fellow soldiers turned out to be quite a positive defect. She was humorous. Bubbly. Sympathetic. Protective. And—like I've mentioned before—she had the purity of an angel. And this angel was completely capable of curing my madness. My insanity._

_I can clearly remember the night I rushed home to find my mum, brother, sister-in-law, and nephew strewn across the floor beneath the Christmas tree in masses of blood. All I wanted at that moment was death. Death was surely easier than going on living without my family. Everyone I loved had been destroyed. I had no more purpose in life. I almost ended it right there. The gun in my hand taunted me—licked my palm and whimpered forlornly. The barrel of the gun begged to make contact with my temple, and the trigger screamed to be pulled._

_How am I still alive today? I ignored the hopeless wails of my gun and thought about the consequences. Roba would've won if I'd given in to death. He would've been able to chuckle mirthfully to himself, pleased that the problem was gone. I knew I couldn't give him the satisfaction. My heart—thought battered and slashed on that night—slowly began sealing itself back up again when I thought of the prospect of thwarting Roba's plan. I would live a good life, and defeat him. Conquer him._

_Soap healed much of my ragged heart with his friendship. Having a friend like him at my side was a breath of fresh air. He gave me something I'd been reluctant to touch: trust. With his help, I began defying all that Roba had wanted to happen to me. But still, my heart was not healed._

_And then Queen came stumbling along._

_For once in a long time, I felt the damaged pieces of my heart be put back together. And the slender, careful hands of a red-haired beauty were responsible._

_I could not deny it any longer. I craved her. I wanted her. I needed her._

**_I loved her._**

* * *

Taking a deep breath, Mckinley breathed a single word, enveloped with pounds of powerful emotions and regrets.

"_**Yes**_."

* * *

Dunn: ... Oh shit. Here it comes...

_**DUNN DUNN DUNN DUNN DUNN DUNN!**_

ecto1B: Hey! I like overworking the hot Army Ranger! ^_^

Dunn: *mutters under breath* GOD FORBID WOMAN!

ecto1B: REVIEW PLEASE!


	22. Dominance RATED M

YES I HAVE FINISHED IT!

(does wild happy dance all across floor)

You guys happy? Below is the official M chapter! XD I KNOW! AREN'T YOU EXCITED! It took me FOREVER to write it, but I think it's good... I had TONS of help from friends at school (and AstroRen's UberNova, of course). Hopefully you'll love it as much as I do!

OMG such a funny story to tell you guys. AstroRen's UberNova and I are actually really good friends from a few years ago (I moved *sob sob*). I randomly found her here on fanfiction (not knowing it was really her) and fell in love with her Star Wars story, so I favorited her. She's also my friend on Facebook, so when she saw the picture of Queen I drew, she flipped out and messaged me instantly. What a freaking small world, eh? LOL I thank her a TON for being my long lost sister... ^_^ This chapter is dedicated to you, girlie! ily!

**Question of the Chapter**: What's your outlook on the prospects of me writing a sequel to this story? Just wondering... :D

PLEASE ENJOY!

_**ecto1B**_

_**WARNING: STRONG SUGGESTIVE THEMES BELOW AND IMPLIED. ADVISE YOU NOT TO READ IF YOU ARE UNCOMFORTABLE WITH "LOVEMAKING" SCENES**_

* * *

Chapter 22:

**"Dominance"**

**Day 5 – 20:53:03**

**Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

"A few things we need to clear up first," Queen said earnestly as Ghost pressed her to the wall, melting his lips onto the exposed part of her collarbone. What was she saying? He wasn't paying any attention. Never before had he wanted someone so badly, and now she was all his. When she'd finally said yes, he immediately gained the upper hand, bringing her over to the nearest wall and planting kisses all across her neck. Why didn't he kiss her straight on the mouth? Ghost wanted to make her wait. To him, it seemed more exciting that way, to pressure her to beg for it. And once he had her pleading for more, Ghost would stall a little longer. He'd get her as far as he could before submitting.

"Ghost, _please_ try to focus on what I'm saying, though you're _obviously_ distracted at the moment."

"Mmm…" he murmured in response, letting his tongue delve into the deep indents on her shoulder. His fingers crawled up and tugged at her shirt, trying to move the bothersome object out of the way. But Queen instantly grabbed his hand and gave him a humorless look.

"Ghost, will you listen for _two _seconds?"

Sighing, Ghost lifted his mouth from her shoulder and met her eyes.

"What?"

"First thing." She wagged a finger in his face. "This is happening _here_…?"

Ghost nodded. "Yes. Is that all?" He pouted mischievously. "'Cause I'd like to get back to—"

"_Nuh-uh_," she interrupted. "I want you to actually _think_ about it for a second." She motioned to the room around them. "Here. In a _laundry room_. Wouldn't a place with an actual _bed_ serve us better?"

Ghost contemplated this for a moment. Yes, beds were usually an item of importance during lovemaking, but there was something rather tempting about remaining in the laundromat. Something that made his skin prickle with foreshadowing delight.

"Though I _do_ see your point," he began slowly, resting his hands on her waist, "I think it'd be best if we stayed here. Out of… _convenience_."

Giggling, Queen rolled her eyes. "Typical male. Easiest choice always wins with you men.

Ghost tilted his head a bit to the left. "Eh, pretty much."

"Okay, next subject. If I do something stupid, you won't laugh, right?"

He couldn't suppress a mild chuckle. "Something stupid. Do I get an example?"

"No."

"Oh, c'mon!" He laid his mouth on her jaw line and began leaving a trail of kisses down her neck, then back up to her temple. "You won't give me _one_… _little_… _example_?"

Queen turned her head, trying to get at his lips. Ghost tried to resist the inclination to surrender—tasting the lush scent of her breath in his mouth. He severely wanted to kiss her then, but that earlier thought about being alluring by procrastination continued to pound the back of his mind. Shutting his mouth, he moved away from her lips and instead gave her earlobe an affectionate lick.

"If you stop tormenting me, I might consider it," she replied hotly.

Ghost smirked. "Fine. No example, then."

"Hey!" she screeched, slapping his shoulder. "I didn't mean it like that!"

"Sure, sure," Ghost teased. "Now was there a third thing to go over? Or can we carry on with—"

"There _is_ one more thing, Ghost." Queen interjected before he could kiss her neck. "And then you may continue as you please." He could tell she was fighting a grin. The corners of her mouth were twitching. "But I want you to _listen_, okay? Not be distracted by me."

Ghost pulled a depressed face. "Okay…" he sighed. "What's the last thing?"

She took a deep breath and opened her mouth to speak. But before she could get anything out, Ghost lost it. He couldn't stand not kissing her any longer. It wasn't fair, making himself wait in anguish. Every single fiber in his being wanted her in his arms, wanted her for his own. Lust was overpowering him from having a rational train of thought. Queen could ask him her question later. Right now, he wanted nothing more than to love her.

Ghost could vaguely remember his very first kiss. He'd been fourteen and a freshman in high school; young, bright and ready to take on the world. The military was already in his sights, so his social life was struggling to stay afloat. Having only a handful of friends, he did his best to survive the high school years with barely any foundation to stand on.

Her name was Hope Marie Shaw. He'd had a crush on her since the first grade. With her bouncing brunette curls, a pearly white smile and round blue eyes, she'd been the center of his desire for years. But according to his friends, she didn't even know Ghost existed, until a field trip to an old museum brought them face-to-face. Chatting nonstop throughout the entire tour, Ghost had been extremely nervous when the conversation slowed, and the two of them stood beneath a painting of a meadow of flowers. She'd giggled, turning Ghost's face to crimson red. And then—slowly—they'd kissed.

Ghost had been positive no other event in his life could ever outdo his first kiss. It had been so angelic… so pure… he'd never felt so strongly about something before.

He was absolutely wrong.

For when he touched his pale, chapped lips to Queen's plump, red ones, the entire earth shook with ecstasy. The heavens sang and hell spit fire. Gone was Ghost's terrifying past. Gone was all the pain, the blood, the bullets, the dark rooms, and the endless terror. Gone was anything but that celestial moment. Horror disintegrated completely.

Queen flinched a bit when he kissed her, but when Ghost wrapped his arms around her waist to pull her closer, she succumbed instantly. Her fingers dug into his short blonde hair on instinct, pressing her body to fit every concavity of his. From how Queen was acting, Ghost could tell she was enjoying kissing him. The thought made him wild with euphoria.

Their lips molded together, perfectly-fitting and locking like a complex jigsaw puzzle. They moved slowly with each other, taking their time to explore this strange new object they were encountering. Breaths were short in between, not being deemed quite necessary since all the oxygen they needed was being supplied by the other person.

Eventually, Ghost found that his fingers had traveled to rest at her left thigh, pulling it up and wrapping it around his waist. She didn't seem to mind; there was no hesitation in her actions. Queen only tightened her hold on him in desperation. Moans escaped from the depths of her trachea, letting Ghost know to keep going. And soon, both of her legs had secured themselves around his waist.

"_Ghost…_" she breathed, and Ghost took the fleeting chance to poke his tongue expectantly against her lips, begging admittance. It took her a moment, but soon he felt her sigh in defeat, opening her mouth and letting their tongues begin dueling fiercely with each other. Now, it wasn't just an expression of passion. It was a battle for total dominance. Ghost still held her to the wall, but Queen was rapidly gaining authority over him. Even without a firm hold on the ground, the passion unfolding in her behavior was overwhelming.

Soon, Ghost decided that they should carry out someplace else. The wall was becoming rather problematic. Letting his tongue take a quick breather, he carried her over to a nearby washing machine and set her down on top.

"Oh_ God, _Ghost…" Queen managed, tearing her lips from his and meeting his gaze. "This is… is…"

"Incredible?" he suggested, resting his mouth on the lower of her neck. "Brilliant? Spectacular?"

She tilted her head a bit. "I was gonna say 'irresistible,' and 'stimulating,' but okay."

Ghost's gaze drifted to her long-sleeved t-shirt. He studied it for a moment, then glanced back up at her, pleading. He wanted it gone. Gone from his view. It was becoming a nuisance for his eyes, and the next step in the process required it on the floor.

"Off?" he proposed hopefully.

She shook his head. "Nope. Yours first." She eyed his tight black turtleneck with interest. "I'm dying to see those famous abs."

"Famous?" Ghost obediently took his Kevlar jacket off, and then reached down and began pulling the shirt up over his head. "I never knew my abs were world-renowned."

Queen helped him take it off, discarding the black piece of clothing on the washing machine next to her. "I've heard quite a bit about them, actually." When his chest was revealed, she scanned over the sculpted muscles in fascination. "They're not that bad."

"Not that _bad_?" His face contorted in disappointment. Was she displeased with his body? Would that affect anything? The beads of sweat on his forehead thickened dramatically.

Quickly, Queen tossed her arms back around his neck and brought him close. Her mint-scented breath danced along the lines of his face. "Oh _no_, Ghost. I didn't mean it like that. You've got very gorgeous abs." She stifled a giggle. "You offended by what I said or something?"

Ghost's cheeks filled with redness. He wasn't offended, per say, it was more that he was worried she wasn't attracted to him any longer. He wanted to be perfect for her. She deserved the ideal man, and if his body was not up to her standards… "No, it's just—"

Queen boldly swiped her tongue into his mouth to cut him off from ranting. Ghost felt his entire body shiver with lust underneath her grip. _Damn Roba if he tries to stop this feeling. _"Don't worry, Ghostie," she murmured seductively, taking his hands and bringing them to rest on the base of her shirt. She was obviously implying something, and he loved every second of it. "You're perfect."

* * *

**DUNN DUNN DUNN**

XD


	23. Supremacy RATED M

A ton of people wanted a BIT more to the M chapter than I wrote, so I added some more. Again, not SUPER UBER graphic, but graphic enough to let me put the warning.

**Just a heads-up**: I DO have updates that I post on my profile everyday about how the next chapter is coming along... I recommend you check up every day or so, just to be sure.

**Question of the Chapter**: Life with the 141. What would it be like? What's your take on the Task Force?

Enjoy!

_**ecto1B**_

**_###WARNING: SUGGESTIVE THEMES BELOW###_**

* * *

Chapter 23:

Supremacy

**I swear to God he wasn't human.**

**I'd bet my life on it.**

**When Ghost took off his shirt, I knew for a fact he wasn't human. How could a mortal man possess such an impeccable body? It didn't make any sense. I mean, sure, you see guys on TV with abs that make girls scream and cry with want. But Ghost's body… holy _shit_.**

**I'm trying to think of a good comparison. Let's see… Find a picture of Taylor Lautner, you know, that guy who played Jacob in the Twilight Saga movies? Okay… now in your mind, take his abs and transfer them onto a shirtless Ewan McGregor. Okay, now make the abs tighter, more defined, and much more muscular. There's Ghost.**

**I literally almost fainted when he yanked his black turtleneck off. Luckily I had enough sense to keep my composure, but I think the comment I made slightly insulted him. Yeah… smooth move, Mckinley. Here you are, seventeen years old, and a beyond-gorgeous military guy is kissing the heck out of you. You just have to say his abs are "not that bad." Way to go.**

**I almost instantly wondered if he'd ever kissed the real Queen before then. It didn't seem like it, but who knows? He couldn't tell I wasn't Queen, and heck, it was GHOST who was kissing me. No time to bring up the subject now.**

**My only concern was how far he was going to take it…**

* * *

"_Ghost…_" she moaned as he intensified the kiss, plunging his tongue back into her mouth and running it along the row of ivory teeth inside. His fingers seized her shirt, hoisting it over her head and merely letting it fall onto the tile floor beneath them. An inky-black sports bra became visible.

* * *

**I was seventeen years old! He was, what, in his late twenties? And what age did he think I was? Probably around twenty-five? Was this wrong? If he thought I was older, was it still wrong?**

**At the time, I didn't care much. His caress was luxurious. Soothing. Enticing.**

* * *

Minutes later, after he'd thoroughly explored her chest, Ghost found that his hands rested on the cold metal button denying him access below her waist. A lascivious grin slipped across his face; his old instincts from back in Mexico beginning to reappear. Supremacy. Complete control. Procuring loyalty from her. It was too easy. She was his. There was no escape.

* * *

**I think I blacked out during our activities, for when I awoke, I was back in my tent. Lord knows how long we were in the laundromat, having our fun. And when it was all over… well, I didn't know quite what to say.**

* * *

teehee

**DUNN DUNN DUNN DUNN DUNN!**

I'm sorry, I just love doing this and pissing him off XD


	24. Water

So let's see what I need to mention before you read this chapter... hmm...

**Well, first off**, thanks to everyone who said my M chapters were good. I agree with all of you when you said that a really graphic M chapter in this sort of story would've been bad. And hey, I didn't want to WRITE one super graphic, either. So it's a win-win situation!

**Second**, I've noticed that a ton of you have deviantart accounts and are really amazing illustrators! Since I can't draw worth crap, if you guys wanted to draw something from this story, I'd be really happy! I don't even care if it's stick-figures or not. XD

**Question of the Chapter:** From what I've hinted to some of you and mentioned in chapters, what do YOU think will happen when I get to Loose Ends? Give me your totally honest opinions. And keep in mind that I am GOING to try my hardest to get at least a single tear from each of you...

And heads up to all the Ghost fangirls: I have a feeling this might become one of your favorite chapters... eh... it's possible. I mean, Ghost's ONLY taking a shower... ^_^

Read, Enjoy and Review!

_**ecto1B**_

* * *

Chapter 24:

**"Water"**

**Day 6 – 2:15:22**

**Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

Rolling onto his back, Ghost stared blankly up at the tent ceiling, his mind hazy and exhausted. He took a few deep breaths to rejuvenate his highly depraved bloodstream and instantly realized his skin was burning up. Ghost sat up and peeled off the long-sleeved turtleneck from his body, depositing it on the floor beside the cot. Then he laid himself back down and kicked the itchy covers away from his legs.

_Why the hell am I still so sweaty?_ he wondered furiously.

Fed up with the fact that his body wasn't cooling down in the slightest, Ghost groaned and got out of bed. His skull balaclava sat on the foldable table nearby, but he paid no attention to it. Instead, he shuffled across the tent to snatch a towel, then made his way outside and over to the bathhouse for a nice cold shower. Ghost slung the towel around his neck and savored the nippy winter air as it hammered on his bare skin.

_If this is the only way my bloody body will fix itself, so be it._

Taking a whiff of air through his nostrils, Ghost noticed a strange aroma wafting from his skin. Instantly, he realized that the smell was perfume. _Queen_. A smile grew on his face. He still carried her delectable scent. A ripe feeling washed over him, causing his legs to wobble slightly in the snow under his feet. For a moment, Ghost hoped that Queen—who was sound asleep in her tent nearby (he'd brought her there after they'd finished in the laundromat)—smelled heavily of him. Chills accompanied that intoxicating thought of his. Last night had by far exceeded his expectations, and just thinking about it made him weak in the knees. Going back to his months under Roba's supervision, with those sultry prostitutes waiting around every corner… Ghost felt a shudder trickle down his spine. He'd much rather have a single hour with Queen than weeks with one of those repulsive women. Roba had treated the women like prizes, like incentives for showing loyalty to him. They'd caressed him in all the wrong places, making an effort to seduce him. But Ghost had been strong, fighting their nauseating touch and remaining resistant to Roba's additional torture. Still, he wondered why he'd been so inept to fighting his desire for Queen if he'd easily fended off the other women and their allure. She seemed to have a power over him that was incredibly irresistible. Ghost's face contracted into a musing frown. Hadn't he sworn to himself not to ever put faith in anyone ever again? Why was he so easy with Queen? Was he supposed to trust her? He'd trusted Sparks and Washington with his life… until they'd gunned down his family by orders from Roba. Could Queen be like them? Ghost shook his head vigorously to remove that awful thought from his mind. No… she couldn't keep lies from him. She'd tell him if she was here by orders of Roba…

_You're insane_ he scolded himself. _Queen's not working for Roba. No bloody way. You two just made love! There's no way she'd do that just—_

_Sparks and Washington were your best mates_ his other half argued. _They were there with you during the six months with Roba. They were brainwashed by him—unlike you. They killed your family! Your mother, your brother, his wife, even five year-old Joseph. And didn't Sparks seem normal at first when you two went to that bar to chat? Then he started talking about Roba being right—_

"She's not working for Roba!" Ghost shouted, slamming his fists on the side of the bathhouse. The noise echoed throughout the entire base. Ghost became aware that it was a little after two in the morning, and that he shouldn't be yelling. He took a deep breath to calm himself and unhinged his clenched hands. He didn't understand. Why did half of him trust Queen, and the other half didn't? Which side should he believe? _Was_ she working for Roba?

Ghost gnashed his teeth and pushed open the door to the T-shaped bathhouse, deciding to deliberate the subject at a later time. He glanced about the familiar setting. On his right side, a long counter area stretched the length of the wall, complete with sinks, bars of soap and paper towel dispensers. On the left there were seven wooden shower stalls with ugly blue curtains to give users a bit of privacy. Inside each stall, the custodians had provided the men with small bottles of shampoo, conditioner and body wash. At the back, along the horizontal section of the building, were the bathroom stalls. Again, each stall was made of oak wood, but instead of curtains, they had doors. At the moment, Ghost could hear no sounds from anywhere inside the bathhouse, so he was quick to assume he was alone. No water was running, no toilets flushing, and there was no one standing at the sinks. He could bathe in peace.

He entered a shower stall—sliding the curtain closed after him—and promptly stripped off the rest of his clothes. Ghost hung them and his towel over the door so they wouldn't get too wet, and then glanced down to examine his overly-damp body. A sigh—overcome with shame—escaped from between his teeth.

When Queen had seen his body, he'd been glad the light had been so bad inside the laundromat so she couldn't really see the details. Either that, or she just hadn't said anything, for multiple scars crusted his pale skin from his days in the SAS. From the area around his neck, to all the way down to his legs, blemishes, marks and thick red lines scattered over each piece of skin. Battle scars… reminders of the persecution he'd dealt with in the past. They were everywhere on his body, and standing naked in the shower stall, he had no way to hide them. Vulnerable. Exposed. The scars were irremovable.

Before he turned the water on, Ghost took the chance to take one last whiff of Queen's perfume. The smell reminded him so much of how she'd felt in his arms. The warmth of her body, her heartbeat inches from his, her lips brushing his skin… everything he'd experienced last night had been beyond perfect. Ghost ran his tongue over his top row of teeth, thinking. Was it _possible_, in the slightest, that she worked for Roba? Here to seduce him, just to betray him again? His heart ached. _No. Not possible_. Queen loved him—she'd said so in-between kisses. He had to stop doubting that.

Ghost reached to the wall and turned the shower knob on. A thin spray of icy-cold water cascaded from the nozzle, drenching his body. Droplets of the frosty liquid slithered across every curve and into every indentation, slowly bringing his body temperature back to normal. He squirted a nickel-sized amount of shampoo onto his palm and then ran it through his dusty blonde hair with his fingers. Once the foamy substance had been washed away—dribbling down the length of his neck and resting on his shoulder blades—Ghost uncapped the body wash and poured a glob of it into his other hand. As gently as possible, Ghost massaged the soap throughout his body. All of the dirt, sweat and grime slipped off him and into the shower drain on the ground. He disregarded the conditioner—was it a manly instinct? He didn't know. Honestly, he'd never used the stuff before in his life.

Finally, all the bubbles from the soap vanished down the drain. Ghost stuck his face into the spray of the nozzle and shut his eyes one last time, basking in the chilly water's placidness.

He smiled. Peace. Tranquility. At last.

* * *

Dunn: Heh, this ending doesn't deserve a suspenseful music part...

ecto1B: Or does it?

Dunn: Shit.

**DUNN DUNN DUNN**

Review nicely for poor Dunn, who I constantly overwork for your enjoyment!


	25. Joseph

Not a UBER long chapter. Important, though. You'll learn a bit more about poor Joseph Allen, and get to read the letter Queen was replying to in chapter 19.

I got so many new readers since last chapter. **Thanks to Carovinee, MansonDoll, Nioba, and proxima for reviewing! ^.^**

_OMG! So, one of my amazing readers, xXdeathsangelXx, drew a picture of Queen! It's absolutely amazing! It's on , search for her username (GothicBandicoot) and one of her pictures should look familiar :D Thank you so much for drawing her, xXdeathsangelXx. I really loved the pic!_

**Question of the Chapter: **What was your overall thought on my M chapters? Too much? Too _little_? Just right? Should there be more M chapters? Did I make a bad decision in even WRITING M chapters? Give me your opinion, please. It would be greatly appreciated. ^_^ Please and thank you!

Sounds like enough. Read, Enjoy, Review. Love you all! ^_^

**_ecto1B_**

_**WARNING: Rough language below**_

* * *

Chapter 25:

**"Joseph"**

**Day 6 – 7:19:38**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

The tent was freezing. Mckinley scooped up all the covers from her cot and wrapped them around her shoulders. As her teeth chattered mechanically, she began to rock back and forth, crossing her legs and shutting her eyes. Any way she could keep warm, she was going to do it. Goosebumps traced themselves down her arms and legs. Taking a second to glance at her clothes, she huffed angrily when she realized a thin U.S. Army tank top and cameo sweatpants were the items responsible for her freezing body. _Ghost. Thanks._ Somehow, he'd changed her clothes while she was sleeping… usually that would freak her out, but since she and Ghost had… sort of… _done it_, the freaked-out feeling was missing.

Mckinley glanced at her watch. _Why the hell am I wearing a watch? What the fuck?_ It said 7:20. She sighed, yawned, and pulled the blankets tighter. _I have 40 minutes until I'm supposed to be at the mess hall for breakfast. What the heck do I do?_

The piles of papers on the table nearby popped into her mind. _Why don't I read some more of the letters?_ _Find out some more about Queen. Maybe even find a letter to her from Joseph Allen._

Keeping the blankets around her body for warmth, Mckinley stood from the cot and shuffled over to the table. She flicked on the lamp and sat on the chair, leaning over the table's edge to closely examine her reading choices. The letter she'd read yesterday was still lying on top of the stack, dotted with wet stains. She took it and moved it to the side, than began shuffling through the rest. Another handwritten sheet caught her eye…

_Queen,_

_You heard right. I'm going undercover as one of Makarov's men. Strangely, I'm sort of excited. I haven't ever really done much to help with this Ultranationalist situation. I know you've been working your ass off with the task force, trying to keep things under wraps, but all I've really done help with the movement here in Afghanistan. I feel sort of useless compared to the adventures you seem to be doing._

_You heard anything from your family lately? They must be worried sick about you. No one back home in Ithaca has bothered contacting me. I really don't think they know where to send letters, since I've been moving around a lot…_

_How's life at the base? All the guys treating you well? I bet you're flirted with often. No question as to why that is. But if any guy tries to make a move, tell me. I'll beat his ass to the ground._

_I'm curious. I've heard rumors about a masked man in the task force. And they're not very good rumors, at that. Who is this guy? You feel safe around him at all? He sounds kind of screwy…_

_You hang in there. I'll see you soon. Be careful on all those crazy missions. Don't kill yourself trying to prove to those boys you're better than them, because we all know you are._

_Love you,_

_Joseph Allen_

More tears stung her eyes, but she shook them away. So this was the letter Queen had been replying to, before Joseph was killed. Through Joseph's letter, Mckinley could tell how much he'd loved Queen, how much he'd wanted to make sure she was safe at all times, how much he worried for her. Even in a letter, he'd sounded genuinely concerned.

Suddenly, the tent flap opened.

_Why is it that every time I finish a letter, I get interrupted?_

"Queen? You're up." It was MacTavish, looking more serious than usual. His blue eyes looked exhausted. "You sleep alright?"

Mckinley stood from the chair, flinging the blankets back onto the cot and walking over to speak with him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just feeling a bit weak…" She visibly shivered, then added, "And cold."

MacTavish—out of the blue—reached back and pulled his winter jacket from his arms. In a rather friendly gesture, he positioned the coat onto her shoulders to keep her warm. A smile formed on his lips.

"Well, put some more layers on," he instructed, "because you're needed at the briefing tent in five minutes. Shepherd's assigned us a new mission, and we need to go over our strategy." When she frowned, he said, "Breakfast will be served afterwards. This is an important mission. We're going to take out a nuclear missile."

A light bulb turned on in her head. _Contingency._

"Five minutes?" She hugged the jacket's puffy, sewn shoulders to her body. Wasn't wake-up call in a half an hour? "But it's only—"

"Times change when a mission comes up," MacTavish interrupted her, raising his eyebrows suspiciously. "I thought you knew that."

She blinked. "Oh. Yeah. Sorry, sir."

He dipped his head, taking a step backwards into the snow. "Just checking. Five minutes."

"Yessir. Thanks for letting me borrow your jacket."

"No problem. See you in a few."

He disappeared into the foggy morning air, leaving Mckinley to stand there in his coat. She began wondering how she'd act when she saw Ghost that morning, and also wondering what she could possibly say to him to prove she'd relished in their late-night activities the day before… _without _letting anyone else know what sorts of lusty ventures they'd followed through with together.

* * *

ecto1B: (sigh) Dunn, what are you doing?

Dunn: I brought someone who can replace me for the suspenseful music. (motions to Ramirez)

Ramirez: Why am I here?

Dunn: To be ecto1B's slave.

Ramirez: But I already am _Foley_'s slave!

(In distance) "RAMIREZ! WHITE HOUSE UNDER ATTACK! DEFEND BURGERTOWN!"

Ramirez: (groan) _Coming_... (walks away)

Dunn: (panicks) Ramirez is gone... oh **_shit_**.

**DUNN DUNN DUNN!**

ecto1B: Try as you may, you will always be my little slave, Dunn. ily though.

Dunn: Great... you love me, but you torture me.

ecto1B: I'm not the only one! The readers love you too! Readers! Tell Dunn you love him!


	26. Freefalling

**Hola, mi amigos y amigas. ^_^**

**A few notices for you guys to read:**

1. If you have ideas, pictures, comments, etc. that you'd like to send me, I now OFFICIALLY have my own email address specifically for this story. Email stuff to: **1b gmail .com **(get rid of the spaces)

2. AstroRen's UberNova and I have just started our own collab story called "Our General Theory of Total World Domination." It's a MW2 story, featuring MacTavish, Ghost, ROACH XD, Queen, her OC named Baby, and the rest of the 141! Go check it out!

3. THANK YOU to Evangel Gamer for drawing a SPECTACULAR picture of Queen! I love it! Thanks a ton! It's beautiful!

4. I am in love with Maroon 5 and their new album, **Hands All Over**. So far, "Stutter" reminds me a ton of Queen and Ghost. Go check the album out! I might be putting some of the songs in future chapters!

**Question of the Chapter:** If they were making a Modern Warfare 2 movie, and YOU were asked to cast the parts, who would play who? What actors would best suit each character? (You can even cast Queen, if you want to make me a happy girl ^_^)

That's a wrap! R&E&R! (Read and Enjoy and Review!)

_**ecto1B**_

* * *

Chapter 26:

**"Freefalling"**

**Day 6 – 7:27:59**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

"Early bird, eh?" Captain Price remarked to Mckinley as she ducked inside the briefing tent. Inside, a large square table covered in maps and equipment was placed at the center, with stools lining the table's edge for the soldiers to sit on. In the back corner, another table—this one significantly smaller—was completely immersed in computer equipment and knotted wires. Ghost was sitting at it, making an effort to untangle the cables. From where she stood, Mckinley could see that his skull mask was rolled up above his mouth. A thin cigarette sat between his lips. Captain Price had found a stool and was leaning on the center table. MacTavish stood next to Price with his palms flat on the table; his sapphire-blue eyes scoured the tabletop acutely. Only when Price acknowledged that someone else had arrived did he glance upward.

"Yeah, I know," Mckinley responded, walking over to stand by MacTavish and setting the jacket she'd borrowed back onto his arms. Her legs had began to hurt a little after she'd woke up, so she'd stopped by the infirmary for another dose of painkillers. That had dragged the five-minute time barrier MacTavish had given her to about seven, but no one seemed to mind. "It's so unlike me, too. I never wake up early." She felt her face grow hot when Ghost looked briefly at her, but he instantly returned his attention to the jumbled cords. She ran a hand through her hair and gulped. _Well, this is gonna be one __**awkward**__ discussion. _"So what's this about? New mission?"

MacTavish nodded and pointed to the large map of Russia spread out across the table. Swarms of red marks were strewn about an area a short distance away from Petropavlovsk, Russia. Most of the dots were huddled in the open ocean, while only two or three were situated on the mainland. The largest red dot had a small label that screamed: **CONTINGENCY**.

"The Russians have a submarine base nearby the gulag, where an ICBM is being housed," said Price.

"Shepherd wants us to disarm the missile and secure the base," added MacTavish.

Mckinley flashed a look in Price's direction, knowing for a fact that _Shepherd_ had never ordered such a thing to take place. In fact, he'd pretty much said the idea was crazy. But Price wanted it. The missile was to become the saving grace for the Rangers fighting in Washington, D.C., an EMP that would wipe out the Russian defenses, but, on the negative side, would also destroy the International Space Station. For a moment there, Mckinley wondered what would happen if she let it slip that Price was really going against Shepherd's command, but she quickly decided against saying anything. _If I say something, then Price will get in trouble, and then no Contingency. And Contingency is my _**favorite** _level to play._

"Okay," she said simply. "Submarine base. I'm assuming it's heavily guarded. What's our entrance going to be like? How rough?"

By then, Ghost had given up dealing with the wires. He'd gone to stand on the end of the table across from the others to listen in. The cancer stick in his mouth let off billows of smoke—not as awful as how Chemo had been puffing last night—and his pale Adam's Apple bobbed up and down as he gulped. His reddish tinted sunglasses prevented Mckinley from telling if he was looking in her direction, and she suppressed a sigh. Try as she may to change it, this conversation _would_ be very awkward. Would she go as far as to say that MacTavish and Price _might_ _happen_ to notice their more awkward moments? Yes. Unavoidable? Probably.

_Great._

"You'll be parachuting to the site," MacTavish answered. "ETA will be about eleven-thirty. Shouldn't take long, unless you land in different sectors."

Mckinley rolled her eyes. _Knock on wood, Soap. Thanks for cursing me. At least Price will find me, even if you don't._

At the captain's statement, Ghost drew his tinted sunglasses from the map. "You said 'you'll,' mate. That mean ya' won't be comin' with us on this one?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest and leaned back.

"Nope. I'll be arming the Predator missiles for you blokes to use." MacTavish smiled. "Price is in charge of this one. He'll get you through it."

Mckinley raised her eyebrows. "So… when we parachute in, we'll be landing… _together_." She really wanted to stress the fact that it wasn't going to happen—she'd be stranded far from the others temporarily, no matter what MacTavish said. "As in, like,_ the same general area_."

"If we're lucky, yes," Price answered for the young captain, tilting his head a bit to the side. His scruffy beard curved into a frown. "You seem worried about not landing together, Private. Everything alright?"

All heads turned in her direction. _Shit. Back to me._ Even Ghost seemed to be staring at her from behind his specs. She blushed crimson.

"Uh… oh, yeah, I'm okay. I just don't like getting separated from the group…" Wringing her hands nervously, Mckinley lowered her head and let a mass of blood-red hair create a veil of safety in front of her face. "I'm just making sure you guys will try your best not to lose me."

"Of course," said Price reassuringly.

"Without a doubt," MacTavish promised.

"I won't leave your side," Ghost vowed, receiving a puzzled side-glance from MacTavish that went unnoticed by Price. "You have nothing to worry about."

* * *

In a futile effort to produce heat, Mckinley rubbed her gloved hands together frantically, blowing puffs of air into them as well. Nothing seemed to be working. Her body still decided to shiver. And the three layers she was wearing apparently did no good, either.

The entire group was sitting on the pave low, making their way over Russia to the submarine base where their objective was. It had already been an entire hour, and still, no one had spoken. Members of the Task Force bundled behind their jackets; teeth chattered away and bodies clustered together to warm themselves. Mckinley had to admit that the sight was sad to see. Grown men were freezing their asses off, and they weren't even at the base yet! She wanted to laugh, but that would require her body to move, and she wasn't in the mood for losing any more heat.

When Mckinley wasn't focused on anything but getting warm, Ghost stood from his seat on the opposite bench and came to sit next to her. He was the only one of the task force who didn't seem very bothered by the abominable temperature, for his jacket was partially unzipped to reveal the other layers of clothing he wore. When he sat down, Ghost put his arm around her and pulled her close. Heat flooded her body. Ignoring the questioning looks from those around her, Mckinley put her head on his chest and let the warmth from her lover's body keep her cozy. Again, her mind drifted to the night before, where the two of them had fought for dominance over the other through passionate kiss and lustful touch. Would that ever happen again? Or had it been a one-night stand?

From across the chopper, MacTavish chuckled at the sight. "Aww, it looks like we have a pair of little lovebirds keeping warm," he teased. Much to Mckinley's surprise, he didn't sound angry at all. "Queen, you cold?"

She glanced up at Ghost. From the angle she was resting at, his sunglasses were no longer an obstacle, and she could see his blue eyes. They glistened with contempt, boasting loudly: "You're mine now. No one can take you from me. I love you that much." She was pleased. His hold on her was firm.

"I'm not cold any more," she told MacTavish proudly.

Ghost winked.

* * *

"All right! You ready to jump?"

The parachute strapped to Mckinley's back made it difficult for her lungs to expand completely, but she managed to nod at MacTavish in response. Her heart beat hastily behind her ribs, supplying her blood with gracious amounts of adrenaline that she'd need to keep herself from fainting on the way down.

She wondered what her parents would say if she told them she was going to jump out of a helicopter. Her mother would probably faint, her dad would start swearing madly. Both would probably forbid her to even _get aboard_ a pave low in the first place. They were always cautious about Mckinley's health, like good, overprotective parents. And especially since they were in the midst of divorce, the mere thought of leaping out a helicopter would be beyond absurd. Mckinley sighed. She missed them. Yes, all they'd done for the past month or so was yell, fight, and swear. But she missed them. They were her parents. Not having them know what crazy stuff she'd been doing felt strange… illegal, almost. And her younger brother, Aidan… well, he'd be begging to come with her as she parachuted to the submarine base. He was only two years younger than she was, and full of the same adventurous spark. He'd bought Modern Warfare 2 in the first place, wanting to experience the greatest shooter game of the year. He'd be the one encouraging her to jump. Mckinley could almost picture his Irish-green eyes glowing with excitement as she told him about all the adventures she'd went on with Task Force 141—

"Queen!" Someone shook her shoulder wildly. "Come back to earth, love! We're about to jump!"

Mckinley pulled herself from her bizarrely painful daydream and found Ghost standing next to her. _He called me love! He called me love! His British accent is SUPER SEXY when he's yelling… he called me love! He called me—_She vigorously shivered and shut her eyes briefly to silence the random thoughts popping into her head. _Shut up, Mckinley! You're about to fricken' JUMP OUT OF A HELICOPTER. You might wanna pay attention! Stop noticing how hot his accent is and ask him how to open the freaking parachute!_

"Remind me how to deploy my chute, again!" Mckinley had to raise her voice, as the doors to the pave low had already opened wide. The wind blowing inside screamed and yowled at them to get a move on.

"When you're nearing the ground, you pull this strap!" Ghost pointed to a black tie dangling from the parachute on her back. "Don't pull it too late—"

"Or I die!" Mckinley finished for him. "Yeah, thanks Ghost! I think I got it!"

He laughed. "You'll be fine, Queen! I promise!" He kissed her forehead through his mask and laughed again. "See ya' when we get down there!"

"Okay… you be careful, too!" she quickly said as Ghost nodded to MacTavish and leapt out into the open air. He vanished as gravity—with furiously strong arms—wrenched him downwards.

The rest of the team followed immediately after, leaving Queen and MacTavish. She watched as everyone disappeared behind the foggy clouds below the chopper, feeling her heart rate pick up.

"What are ya' waiting for?" MacTavish patted her shoulder. "Everything will be fine! Jus' go!"

_First, you want me _**on** _the pave low because Brazilian militia are chasing me. Now, you want me _**off**_ the pave low because Russian soldiers are waiting for me. Make up your mind!_

Mckinley shut her eyes and took a step forwards. Her feet rested on the edge of the pave low. _Sure. What the heck._ Taking a deep breath, Mckinley flushed every fear of falling she had down an invisible drain and jumped.

* * *

ecto1B: Sing it.

Dunn: No way.

ecto1B: C'mon, sing it!

Dunn: No effing way.

ecto1B: (growing impatient) Dunn... I COMMAND YOU TO SING IT!

Dunn: If I don't?

ecto1B: (cups hands around mouth) Ohhhhh _Foley..._

Dunn: (grimaces) CRAP. Fine.

ecto1B: Good boy. (hands Dunn a microphone)

Dunn: This sucks... (sigh)... fine... (puts microphone to mouth)

**I'M FREE! FREEFALLIN'! YES I'M FREE! FREEFALLING!**

Dunn: Was that good?

ecto1B: (claps hands) Yes, very good. You'd make a good Tom Petty impersonator.

Dunn: Oh great. Now when I retire from the Rangers, I'll have a new job. Brilliant.


	27. Contingency

This is probably the most OMG chapter of the entire story so far. Just letting you know. You are GUARANTEED to go "OMG!"

_**Just letting you all know that my email for this story is on my profile (IDK why it wasn't showing up in the last chapter) Please email me with ideas and such! XD**_

**Question of the Chapter:** How has this story affected your life? I mean, how much do you read it? How much do you wish you were Queen? (I know all the Ghost fangirls do that XD) How much do you check for an update? Just curious... I'll use this information for the sequel... ^_^

Oh, and I wrote a One-Shot for Ghost called _Dream Warriors_. Go check it out, please!

R&E&R!

Love you guys! :D

**_-ecto1B_**

**WARNING: STRONG LANGUAGE USED (F-WORD... yeah...)**

* * *

Chapter 27:

**"Contingency"**

**Day 6 – 11:22:35**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**14 miles SSE of Petropavlovsk, Russia**

Like Mckinley had known all along, her landing had been far from agreeable. Everything else about the descent had gone well. Her parachute had deployed smoothly… she'd approached the ground at a rather even speed. So what had made her landing so rough?

_Trees._

A long row of them had obstructed her landing. It was if they'd seen her coming. Their spindly branches knotted together to form a great big tree branch wall. And she'd plowed straight into them. So not only was she covered in snow, Mckinley's hair was snarled with frail wood sticks that poked ceaselessly into her scalp. Wrenching herself from the clutch of trees, she'd tumbled downward and landed on her ass, right in the snow. Cold, in pain, livid… and _alone_.

"Uh, guys?" She remained on the ground, unclipping her chute from her back. The radio on her shoulder was still working, and she was going to use it. Price was supposed to be running down the hill towards her about then. He wasn't anywhere in sight. "Where the hell are you all?"

Static from the radio was her answer.

"Shit." Mckinley hauled herself up from the frigid snow and dusted herself off. "They're not responding. _Just _wonderful."

But suddenly, a familiar voice came onto the radio.

"Price, I can barely see Queen's chute in my satellite feed. Too much interference. Do you see her, over?"

_You know what, 'Tavish? Fuck you. _

From up the hill, a man decked in slinky white camouflage and a disfigured army cap dashed towards her. In his hand, he carried a slender sniper rifle, donned with a silencer. When he spotted Mckinley, his eyes grew wide.

"Roger that, Soap," said Price, kneeling down in the snow a few feet away from where Mckinley stood. "I found Queen. She appears to be intact." Overhead, a group of helicopters lugging jeeps and equipment soared past them through the blue-white sky. "We're gonna head northwest to the sub base, over."

"Copy that," replied MacTavish. "The rest of the team landed near Ghost, pretty far to the east."

A chord in her heart strung deliriously, sending an anguished note echoing through her insides. _Ghost_. She'd have to wait a while before she saw him. He'd meet up with her at the base. This specific part of the mission was only for her and Price, since the others had landed so far away. But she _did_ wonder if she could find the radio frequency he was on and drop him a line…

"Tell them to proceed with the mission. We'll regroup if possible."

"_If_?" Mckinley echoed in disbelief. He didn't sound too sure… then again, she knew they _would_ run into the others eventually, so she didn't worry too much.

Price ignored her. He glanced over his shoulder briefly, and then met her gaze. "Queen, follow me and stay out of sight." Mckinley did a double take when his voice came from her earpiece. She quickly realized that he was speaking through the radio in order to stay undetected. Shrugging, she stood from her place in the snow, pulled the M14 Rifle from her back, and trailed after Price up the hill.

At the moment, everything was peaceful and fairly beautiful. Mckinley glanced up and around at the scenery, trying to recall the last time she'd seen so much snow. Lining the path they were taking, trees shined with snow-covered leaves; the bushes and shrubs along the earth remained stock-solid in their coating of winter white. She took in a breath of the frosty air and then exhaled. The air was so cold, a puff of white expanded from between her teeth. And as she inhaled, she noticed that the atmosphere smelled of pine, with faint traces of smoke from the nearby Russian base. Every so often, sticky snowflakes drifted down through the cold midday air, adhering to Mckinley's jacket and already-messy locks. She groaned and swiped at an incoming flake, only to have Price spin around and shush her. He frowned for a single second before continuing up the hill.

"Party pooper," she muttered under her breath.

Out of nowhere, Price began speed-walking over to a nearby tree, ducking behind it. Mckinley mimicked him and found another tree to take cover behind.

"Contact," he said simply. "Enemy patrol 30 meters to our front."

A small group of Russian soldiers were marching on the road ahead. They looked almost identical to the guys they'd fought on the oilrig and in the gulag. The only difference was that there was a gaunt-looking German Shepherd shadowed them at their heels.

"Five men," Price murmured. "Automatic rifles, frag grenades. One German Shepherd."

"Dogs, I hate dogs," MacTavish gritted through the radio, paying homage to the famous Indiana Jones line, "Snakes. I hate snakes." Mckinley chuckled to herself, and then glanced down her sights at the men down the way, watching as they strolled on without noticing anything peculiar.

"These Russian dogs are like pussycats compared to the ones in Pripyat," Price spat, choosing that moment to reflect on one of his darker moments in the past. Since Mckinley hadn't played the first Modern Warfare and had only read his bio on Wikipedia, she knew he'd faced some ill-tempered dogs before getting himself locked in the gulag. She wondered _how_ bad they'd been…

"It's good to have you back, old man," MacTavish chortled.

"Roger that." Price stepped from behind the tree and steadily treaded closer to the road. "Let's follow them quietly and pick off any stragglers."

Mckinley nodded and walked behind him, racking her brain to remember how many Russian soldiers she'd have to kill before the two of them reached the submarine base. She also thought back to how many times she'd come close to death at Price led her through the snow-blanketed woodlands in the distance, and hoped the mission would pass by quickly.

####################

While her lungs screamed to be given a rest and her legs threatened to give out underneath her, Mckinley plodded up the hill after Price. She continued to curse under her breath at Price, who seemed energetic and raring to go. They'd just survived a legion of patrolling Russian troops, packs of savage dogs and two huge BTRs that nearly plowed into her. And Price was acting as if none of that had ever happened. How did he do it? She sighed and clutched her stomach, considering going back to the base once the mission was over and running the course a bazillion times. She needed to get more active if she was to keep accompanying the _unstoppable Price machine_…

"Soap, what's the status of our air support, over?"

_Heh, he said "stay-tus." British people are so fricken' amazing. _

MacTavish's reply was prompt. "A UAV loaded with AGMs is en route to your position."

"Roger that." The two soldiers reached the top of the hill and stopped. Below, a gorgeous view greeted them. With frosty-white mountains peaking into the pure blue sky in the distance and the cobalt ocean skimming the edges of the land, the dipping landscape would've made the perfect Christmas card, had it not been for the huge SAM sights and the crane poking from the village. Mckinley snapped a quick mental image and released a breath. The muscles in her cheeks were unable to conceal a satisfied smile while the spectacle was in view.

To her left, Price laid on his stomach.

"This ridge is perfect," he remarked. "Queen, take control of the Predator drone."

It was then that Mckinley noticed the UAV control box strapped on her backpack. She reached behind her and unclipped it, bringing it to her chest and opening the top. From the screen, the UAV was transmitting the images it was receiving overhead of the base. Quickly, she targeted in on the closest SAM site, but just as she did, it fired on the UAV. The screen fizzed and blacked out.

"Bollocks!" Price fumed, slamming a fist down on the snow.

"What just happened?" MacTavish inquired swiftly.

"There's a mobile SAM site in the village," Price informed him.

"It just shot down our Predator," Mckinley added dismally.

"Soap, we need another Predator!" Price stood and looked in Mckinley's direction briefly. "Queen, let's go." Instantly, the scruffy-looking captain slid feet-first down the hill, leaving Mckinley to watch him and laugh. Once he was near the bottom, she put her gun on her belt and followed right behind him.

At the base of the hill, a crate with numerous guns caught Mckinley's eye. She dropped her M14 in the snow and snatched up a shiny M240 with a Heartbeat Sensor attachment.

"STAND BACK!" came a voice suddenly to the north of their position. "GET BACK!"

The SAM sight blew apart on cue, sending debris scattering across a large radius. Mckinley ducked behind the crate of weapons and fiddled with the M240 in her hand. Had Price blown it up? Who had—

A squad of soldiers dashed from over a snow-covered peak near the north. Mckinley, assuming they were Russian, aimed the Red Dot sight at the nearest man and began pulling the trigger. But something didn't seem right.

"Check your fire! Check your fire!" said the front man, sprinting towards Price and Mckinley. "Friendlies coming in at your twelve!"

She lowered the gun when the skull-adorned balaclava came into view. _Ghost?_

The entire team huddled behind one of the village buildings, while the mad cries of the Russians echoed nearby, and the rabid sound of gunfire followed suit. Smoke still billowed from the destroyed SAM, turning the snow around it to a charred black. Mckinley backed against the wooden cottage with her newly-reunited comrades, smiling and greeting each one. Bearcat, Cyclops, Taco and Whiskey now joined their group, along with Ghost, of course.

"Nice work on that SAM site," Price commented.

Ghost slammed against the cottage wall next to Price.

"Thanks, but we better get moving—those explosions are gonna attract a lot of attention."

"Glad you could make it," Mckinley grinned wryly at the men. "I thought Price and I would have to do this mission all by ourselves." She paused. "'Cause it's not like we _need_ help from Lieutenant Facemask over there…" she jabbed a thumb in Ghost's direction. In response, Ghost laughed, walked over and mussed up her hair with his knuckles.

"You _sure_ like to mess with me, Queen," he observed.

A lone bullet skimmed the edge of the house, signaling the team to get a move on. The enemy was closing in on their position, and just standing there wasn't doing any good.

"Frag out!" cried Taco, flinging a frag grenade over their heads that landed near a cluster of Russian men. The frag detonated, creating a blinding flash of white light that caused the soldiers to stumble about in the snow, covering their eyes.

"Go! Go! Go!" Ghost hollered, leading the swarm up the hill and opening fire at the stunned enemy.

On Mckinley's Heart Beat sensor, a clump of white dots were huddled to the team's left, hiding behind one of the houses and preparing to ambush them. Quickly, she rushed to the head of the group and unleashed a wild mass of gunfire from her M240 on the hidden men. Going through her entire clip on that assault, the seven Russian soldiers fell to the ground and remained unmoving. She smirked proudly and took shelter behind a tree to reload the extensively difficult weapon. Her frostbitten fingers struggled to lay the new rack of bullets in the holster, so it was taking some time to—

"Queen, watch your back!" Bearcat yelled from behind, and Mckinley spun around to see an angry Russian soldier carrying his AK-47 like a club. He raised it over his head and jabbed at her. Instinctively, Mckinley dove from his attack and landed in the snow. From her belt, she unsheathed her tactical knife and gripped it in a Harries position with the blade facing away from her. _Wait, how the hell am I doing this? _Again, the man came after her with the butt of the gun; a deranged Russian battle cry accompanying his attack. Dodging the blow by moving her shoulder, Mckinley shut her eyes stabbed the knife into the man's chest.

"QUEEN!" her team cried in unison, watching the limp man—soaked in newly spurting blood—topple onto her. Mckinley yelped in alarm, attempting to pull herself from underneath the dying man. Her face contorted into a look of nausea at the sight of the blood spilling from his wound and onto her white cameo jacket. She wanted to scream. Hand-to-hand combat terrorized her, and she'd just endured it. Why hadn't she just wrenched the gun from him, or used her USP pistol, or even fled before he hit her? Why had her hands jumped to using her knife? Tears began to form at her eyes. Another man was dead at her hands. She glanced down warily at the man who was keeping her on the snow; through his goggles, she watched as his eyes rolled back in his head. Mckinley choked back another scream and looked away.

"Queen, you all right?" Ghost and Whiskey ran over and yanked the dead soldier off of her to reveal the poor, cowering girl, her chest covered in an unholy red. Whiskey went to extract Mckinley's knife, while Ghost helped her to her feet and cradled her for a moment in his arms.

"I h-h-hate hand-to-hand combat," she stuttered into Ghost's scarf. "I hate k-killing a man like th-that. I'm _not_ a b-bad person…"

"Shh… I know you're not a bad person," the masked man replied soothingly. The rest of the team continued to take down the oncoming Russians around them as Ghost helped Mckinley recover. "He would've killed you, though. You did the right thing. It's over now."

From nearby, Price watched the embracing pair with a vaguely suspicious glint in his eyes. It went unnoticed by everyone but Mckinley, and by the look on his face, Price had fathomed something irregular in Mckinley's actions. Gulping, she stepped away from Ghost's hug and finished loading her gun. His eyes were still locked on her. Did he know she wasn't Queen? Would the real Queen have made such a big deal over stabbing a man? Her heart pounded adrenaline inconsistently through her veins at the thought. _Was she done for?_

####################

"I'm going for the sub!" Price hollered, making a break for the docking bay where the grey submarine waited. "Cover me from that guardhouse by the west gate!"

"Roger that!" Ghost bent down behind a crate to reload and met Mckinley's gaze. "Queen, we have to get to that guardhouse by the west gate to cover Price! Follow me!"

"Is there an echo out here?" she retorted loudly, sidestepping a barrage of badly-aimed gunfire. "I mean, I _did_ here Price say something similar…"

"You can tease me later, _Private_," Ghost said in an unusually stern tone, sending a chill down her spine. "Right now we need to focus on keeping Price outta harm's way."

She sucked in a breath. "_O…kay then._"

When the group reached the roof of the guardhouse, Mckinley ducked behind the railing and used the controller to direct an AGM at a pair of incoming Russian trucks. Once they went up in smoke, she stood again and began tearing through the enemy defenses lining the dock.

"All right, I'm inside the sub!" came Price's enthusiastic voice through the radio. "Cover me, I need a few minutes!"

_To arm and launch the nuclear missile_ Mckinley added in her head. _Even though the rest of us think that you're disabling it._

"Contact to the north, on the dock next to the sub!"

"Roger that, Ghost," Taco said, grabbing an RPG-7 that was leaning on the railing and firing upon the soldiers Ghost had mentioned. Mckinley patted him on the back kindly and grinned.

"Nice work, dude."

The huge siren wailed from the bowels of the base, alerting everyone that the sub was near its departure. And still, throngs of men slithered from every corner towards the small guardhouse. Bearcat, Cyclops, Taco, Whiskey and Ghost carried on with their incessant battering of the enemy, and Mckinley paused only once to see parts of the submarine moving…

"Price, are you there?" Ghost asked. He'd picked up on the movement as well. "The silo doors are opening on the sub, I repeat, the silo doors are opening on the sub!"

No answer.

"Price, come in! They're opening the silo doors on the sub! Hurry!"

Silence. Mckinley facepalmed.

"PRICE, DO YOU COPY? THE SILO DOORS ARE OPEN, I REPEAT, THE SILO DOORS ARE OPEN!"

_Man, Ghost's accent is __**so hot**__ when he's yelling_…

Finally, Price replied.

"Good."

Like the sound of a volcano erupting and spewing out immense amounts of red hot lava, a thin black nuclear missile lifted off from the submarine and straight into the blue sky.

"Wait, _wait_! _WAIT! PRICE! NO!_" Ghost screamed as everyone else—with jaws dropped—watched the slender missile ascend into the sky with fire at its tail. Mckinley glanced at it once with her eyes, but was uninterested. She already knew what Price's intentions were, and that this missile, when acting as an EMP, would save America. No need to get mental about it. Instead, she honed in on Ghost's unlawfully sexy accent as he spoke hysterically into the radio.

"We have a nuclear missile launch! Missile in the air! Missile in the air!" Ghost met Mckinley's gaze briefly, and she noticed that behind his sunglasses, his blue eyes were fully open and dilated in anxiety. "CODE BLACK! CODE BLACK!"

####################

Aboard the Pave Low, all was silent. Either no one _could_ speak, or no one _wanted _to break the peace. There were spaces between each soldier on the benches; each was huddled alone in their seat. Everyone's faces revealed shock, distress, disbelief, or a mixture of all three. Since Price had sent the Russian missile into orbit, and since Ghost had shouted franticly, no one had said a word. Not even Mckinley wanted to talk. She faked distress on her face and took one of the numerous unoccupied seats around Price.

At that second, MacTavish exited the cockpit and came into the belly of the helicopter with a grim, humorless facial expression behind his unshaven face.

"Well…" he began, clearing his throat. Heads turned to look at him. "All I can really say is that there are positives and negatives to what occurred today."

"_Positives_?" Ghost repeated angrily, standing from his place on the bench. "How can their be _positives_ to a spontaneous nuclear ICBM launch?" He pointed a finger at Price. "This man _lied_ to us, 'Tavish. He told us we were goin' there to disarm the bloody missile. Not _fucking_ **_launch it_**!"

"Ghost, _please_," MacTavish implored him, sensing the hostility of his lieutenant radiating off him. "Price knew what he was doing. He saved Washington D.C. from the invading Russians. The missile acted as an EMP in the upper atmosphere, giving the U.S. Army Rangers enough time to collect their bearings and push back the enemy."

"But he _lied_ to us, 'Tavish!" Ghost countered. "He could'a told us what he was planning on doing! We could'a been in on it!" He gnashed his teeth and turned his head away. "Instead, the _bloody prat_ decides to give us all heart attacks."

At this, Price also stood. "Ghost, I fully understand where you're coming with this. But I had a feeling that if I told you, there would be complications. Keeping it a secret was necessary for a successful mission."

"_Complications_?" Ghost snarled. He stomped across the floor and got right in Price's face. "_There were_—"

"Enough!" MacTavish and Mckinley yelled at the same time. Everyone's attention whipped to Mckinley, who shrunk back in her seat and turned beet red.

MacTavish put a hand on Ghost's shoulder. "Ghost, what's done is done. The past is the past, and we can't change it." He paused. "When we get to Encounter, Shepherd would like to speak to all three of us. He has another mission for us to complete that could end the war once and for all." His eyes darted to Price, to Ghost, and back again. "I will _not_ tolerate my men fighting."

####################

"Queen, may I speak to you for a moment?" asked Price, calling to Mckinley as she exited the Pave Low. She nodded unsurely, waved goodbye to Bearcat and the others, and crunched through the snow towards Captain Price. Ghost and MacTavish had already set off for the briefing tent, where Shepherd was waiting on the radio for them.

"What is it, Price?"

He tilted his head to the right, studying her. His lips pursed and his beard scrunched up. She gulped.

"Uhm… Price?" Mckinley waved a hand in front of his face. "You okay?"

Finally, the man spoke. "You're not Queen, _are you_?"

* * *

Dunn: O_O

Foley: O_O

Ramirez: O_O

ecto1B: (snickers) Heheh...

Dunn: This definitely deserves a Dunn Dunn Dunn.

**DUNN DUNN DUNN**

Foley: OMG. That's all I'll say. OMG.


	28. Revelation

This chapter was SO STRESSFUL to write. My fingers hurt so much from typing and retyping this chapter... O_o And the chapter is a little confusing, but you'll get it eventually! Hang in there!

**Question of the Chapter: (best to be read and answered after you read) **Price will answer some more of Mckinley's questions in the next chapter. If you still are a bit fuzzy on the topic they are about to discuss, tell me your question, and I'll have Mckinley ask him. Any question!

_Again, if you want to email me, the email you can send things to is on my profile._

Love you guys so much! Please read, enjoy, and review this chapter. No flames, please. **PLEASE. O_O**

_**-ecto1B**_

* * *

**"Revelation"**

**Day 6 – 16:38:12**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

It was as if she'd been backed into a tight corner and then whipped. Her lungs had no purpose whatsoever to pull oxygen from the air. Her heart claimed unwilling to pump blood through her veins. Her brain refused to think. Her nostrils flared. Her throat fought back an ear-splitting scream, while her lips constricted and her teeth gnashed together. At her hands, fists formed, ready to throw punches. There was no rationality. No common sense. No sanity. Her body flooded with an instable urge to fall to her knees and sob.

He'd figured it out.

How could he, though? She'd _only_ just met him… unless he had some sort of all-seeing eye, he shouldn't really know her personally. He'd not spoken to her much, besides on the helicopter from the gulag, and even _then_, he'd not obtained much information about her. So _how_ did he have anything to compare to?

Price knew. Somehow, _dammit_, he knew.

As the two of them stood there—eyes locked, faces gleaming with austere conflict—Mckinley felt her jaw lock in its place. She wasn't able to open her mouth. Not that she _wanted_ to answer him, of course. He knew her secret. He knew that all along, _she'd_ been acting as Queen. She was a goner, for he'd tell the others, and they'd kick her off the team for good. Just the thought of it dragged sharp claws deep into her abdomen, fastening to her skin and letting blood of despair trickle from the wounds. She smothered another heavy cry from the depths of her lungs when the image of Ghost's shattered face intruded onto her thoughts.

At that time, Price found it best to break the silence.

"If you decide to confirm my guess, I won't tell the others." He paused. "_Yet_. Just tell me your real name."

Gulping, Mckinley began to stutter. Her jaw snapped from its tight hold to enable her mouth to move. "P-P-Price… I—"

Price held up his hands. "Just _tell me your name_, please. I don't want any lies from you."

Tears began developing at the corners of her wide grey eyes. She dared not glance about the base, for the fear of spotting Ghost nearby seemed just as bad as being confronted by Price about this topic. If he overheard what Price had said… a shudder ran down her spine as she considered what would happen.

"M-My name is…" she fumbled, wiping away a lone tear with her elbow. _Am I really doing this? Am I going to tell him my name? Am I going to give away my protection, lose my friends, make the one I love hate me, and risk my life while getting kicked from the team?_ _Can I do this? Should I do this?_ She inhaled, and let the tranquil breath travel through her nose. _I have to do this. He knows already. I can't deny it. I'm done. It's not worth fighting any longer. A fight is truly pointless. I have to surrender, I have to give up. It's over. _"My name is… _Mckinley_…"

When Price remained frozen in place—looking a bit taken aback for some reason—she tried again. "_Mckinley_. That's my name." She sighed wearily. She wasn't in the mood for putting up with any crap from him. He got her name, and that was that. "Look, Price, I'm not lying or—"

"_Yes, you are_," Price interrupted unexpectedly. "You're not Mckinley."

Now it was her turn to be completely baffled. _What is he talking about? _"Uh… Price… _yes_, that's my name. I'm Mckinley."

"No, you're _not_." He sounded slightly unsure now. His face twisted hesitantly at his own words. "You can't be Mckinley."

"Uh, _yes I am_! I think I would know what my name is." She gave him a look of disbelief. "Price… _why_, exactly, _can't_ I be Mckinley? How do you know I can't? I mean, it's not a very common name—"

"_Because_," he said instantly. His blue eyes darkened rapidly, preparing himself to disclose something astounding. It was almost as if he was about to tell a top-secret piece of information that might get him killed; he bit his lip and lowered his voice to a small whisper. "'Cos _Queen's_ real name is Mckinley. _Mckinley Front._"

…

…

…

...

...

Dead silence, dripping excessively with frostbitten stupefaction, grew in profusion at the end of his sentence. Not even the native Russian birds could be heard from the woods bordering the base. It was completely silent. The entire earth seemed to stand still.

Mckinley's brain raced hundreds of miles an hour, piecing together parts of the puzzle and translating each fragment of information until she couldn't take it any longer.

"H-Her name is M-Mckinley, too?" she sputtered, fear darkening the usually cheerful tone in her voice.

Price also looked confused, but faint traces on his face proved that the puzzle was coming together much quicker inside his head.

"No, I think there's just _one_ Mckinley," he replied thoughtfully. He rapped a finger on his hair-covered chin. "And I think I know how." When she opened her mouth to inquire further, he cut her off with an alarming question. "Do you happen to own the game 'Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2?'"

Shakily and bewilderedly, she half-nodded.

"Yeah… why? Do you somehow know—"

"You were playing the game and was transported here, inside the video game." He faltered for a moment. "Am I correct?"

_Woah, woah, woah! Hang on! How does he know this?_

Price seemed to smile behind his beard. "You're wondering how I know?"

"_Hang on, Price_," she demanded. "Before you go all _sensei_ on me, I'd like to clarify something, 'cause I am _not_ getting any of this." Mckinley pointed to herself. "When you say there is only _one_ Mckinley, you mean… Queen and I are the _same person_?" Her eyes glanced down at her hands, lost in thought.

When he nodded, and she nearly fell over.

"Queen is merely your _future_ self," he explained calmly. "You have temporarily replaced her to get a sneak peek at what's to come. It's something I was told about by an old friend of mine, but never believed. And, now, I guess, it's happened."

"_How the hell do you know this?_" Mckinley screeched. She was breathing heavily, and her eyes were wide with fear. "_I traveled to the effing FUTURE?_"

"Keep your voice down!" Price ordered gruffly. He clasped his hand over her mouth to silence her and glanced over his shoulder. No one was there. With a groan, Price shoved Mckinley behind one of the tents so they could talk in private. Behind his hand, there came muffled curses and insults, but Price ignored them and terminated her rambling with his solemn tone.

"You need to listen to me, Mckinley," he said sternly. "I am going to give you all the answers you're looking for, but you need to do me a favor and listen to them. _No interruptions_. Are we clear?"

The woman nodded uneasily, looking like a deer in headlights when he removed his hand from her mouth. Her plump red lips narrowed together to keep excess questions from wriggling out.

"Okay… where do I begin?" Price tilted his head for a moment and gazed upward into dimming blue sky. "There's so much to tell you about; so many questions that need answering." Pausing, he shut his blue irises tightly and grew silent. Seconds later, the cobalt circles popped back open. "Ah! I know what to start with…" He itched his nose and brought his attention back to the trembling girl before him. "So, Mckinley, you're a bit baffled as to how you managed to transport into the future, eh?" No response. He sighed. "Okay, I'll take that as a yes. Now, the story's a bit on the long side, so if I start to flap my jaws too much, just let me know." Price clasped his hands together and rolled his shoulders. "All right, let's begin.

"About eight years ago, a friend of mine, named Thomas Green, went through something that no other person on earth had ever experienced." Price's voice became stiff, recalling back into his mind. "While he was sleeping, Thomas was transported eight years into the future, which basically means 'now.' He saw what was to become of the world; he saw the destruction, the hate, the ambition that consumed opposing countries. He saw the Russian airport massacre—" At this, Mckinley bowed her head, thinking back to Joseph Allen. "—and the declaration of war on the U.S. He saw Washington, D.C. as it was invaded, and he saw how the war would end." Another pause. "When he returned to the present, Thomas was determined to make known what he'd seen. Instead of broadcasting that 'he'd been to the future,' which would have landed him in an asylum instantly, Thomas was smart. He alternatively brought the story of what he'd seen to the head writer of the video game company he worked for. The head writer loved the idea and, after showing others within the company, approved of it for a video game that would fit perfectly into their Call of Duty series."

Mckinley began to ask a question, but Price cut her off. "As you can tell, no one noticed that the video game was foretelling the future. It became the second best-selling game in America, and still, no one noticed."

"How did you know about Thomas traveling to the future?" she managed to fit in before he could interrupt her again.

"'Cos he told me. Thomas was my best mate. We told each other everything. I called him crazy at first, but when he told me I'd been in the future, getting my ass locked away in the gulag for five years… I had to believe him. Well, only after I found myself in the gulag did I believe him." He shook his head. "I feel bad for the lad. After no one realized what the game was conveying, he thought he was going mad. I had to leave England around that time 'cos I enlisted with the SAS, so he was all alone." He rubbed his eyes and exhaled heavily. "He went missing almost a year after I left. Never found him."

"Hang on. You said nobody noticed the video game coming true."

"Correct."

Mckinley gave him a look. "Hasn't MacTavish or Ghost or any of the team played the game and seen themselves in it? Or wouldn't someone say, 'Hey, you remind me of that guy in Modern Warfare 2,' because obviously, someone _had_ to have noticed by now?"

"Since the game came out, MacTavish, Ghost, and the entire team have been out on duty for the U.S. Army Rangers, the SAS, or Task Force 141. They've never had the time to even pick up a game controller in that time. Why no one's said anything perplexes me as much as it does you."

"Wait, wait, wait. What about Roach?" The name of the soldier she'd replaced when entering the game popped into mind.

"Roach?"

"In the game, there's a guy named Gary 'Roach' Sanderson that I must've taken the place of when I 'time-traveled.' What about him?"

It took Price a minute to figure out what she meant.

"Oh! I know who you're referring to." Price chuckled a bit. "Thomas had seen you in the future, but had _somehow_ known that you would play the game. He also received a bit of criticism about having 'Queen' be the lead character. It turns out that in reality, Roach _does_ exist. But Thomas—not wanting to force the game creators into making the lead character female—omitted 'Queen' and put another person he'd seen in the future, Roach, in Queen's place."

"So why isn't Roach—"

"Remember that you entered the _video game_ version of the future. In that reality, there was no other character to substitute. Roach simply was excluded, and you took his place."

"So in the _real_ future…"

"You are still in this position, but there is a teammate called Roach on the team."

Mckinley put her fingers at her temples and massaged. "_So… confusing…" _

To be perfectly honest, she was completely lost. How was she transported? _Why_ had she been transported? Did this mean that after graduating high school, she'd bypass college and head straight for the training grounds of the Army Rangers? Mckinley winced. Her father would _kill_ her if she neglected a college degree.

"You have more questions, I'm guessing?" Price asked calmly, noticing her apprehensiveness.

"Yes…" she moaned, feeling a raging headache approaching on the horizon. "So many more. I don't understand why—"

"Price? Queen?" It was MacTavish, peeking his head from around the tent. "You two okay? Shepherd wants to talk to us over the radio now."

Mckinley jumped when he spoke, but Price covered for her. "We're fine, Soap. I'll be there in a minute. I was just going over the mission with Queen."

MacTavish nodded, content with the lie. "Okay. Hurry, Price. Shepherd's not gonna wait for ever." His head disappeared behind the tent again, and his boots crunched in the snow away from them.

Price turned back to her. "I'll answer your questions later. If I don't head over there now, Shepherd will have a fit." He tightened his gaze. "Whatever you do, _don't_ say anything about this. No one else knows. You're _Queen_."

Mckinley nodded, swallowing back another random attack of tears.

Price noticed her distress instantly. He put a comforting hand on her shoulder and smiled.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll promise to explain the rest. It's not that complicated. Just keep your head high, and we'll talk later."

Mckinley could only suppress more tears as a response.

* * *

Dunn: I am more confused over this chapter than I was while watching _Inception_.

ecto1B: (sighs) I'm sorry, Dunn. I didn't mean to confuse you. Will you do the music, anyway?

Dunn: Fine. My brain is mush anyway.

**DUNN DUNN DUNN DUNN!**

###

**(Now is a good time to answer the Question of the Chapter if you're really confused like poor Dunn)**


	29. Answers

DON'T HURT ME! (dodges thrown objects) I'M SORRY IT'S BEEN SO LONG SINCE I UPDATED!

Quickly, before it slips my mind ONCE AGAIN, the name Thomas Green is a tribute to three AMAZING people. Thomas: Thomas Leher, the guy who made The Elements Song (that I can't stop singing). The last name Green is in tribute to John and Hank Green, the Vlogbrothers on YouTube. (NERFIGHTERS FTW!) I love them to death, and I just HAD to name a character after them. DFTBA!

Next chapter is LOOSE ENDS. (scream)

**Question of the Chapter:** If there was ONE part of MW2 that you could change, what would it be? Any part!

This story is ALMOST DONE! Then we go on to the sequel! **Any ideas for the sequel?**

**_READ & ENJOY & REVIEW! ^.^ And happy late Halloween!_**

**_-ecto1B_**

* * *

Chapter 29:

**"Answers"**

**Day 6 – 16:49:48**

**Cpt. John Price**

**Task Force 141**

**Encounter Base, Russia**

"Okay…" Price sat down with the foldable chair's backrest at his chest and his eyes fixed intently on the woman seated on the cot. He had just returned from a briefing; their next mission had the Task Force splitting down the middle. Soap and Price would head to the Boneyard in Afghanistan, while Queen and Ghost ventured to Makarov's safehouse on the Georgian-Russian border. They had been given a mission to eliminate the Ultranationalist dirt that had caused such an outrage throughout the world. Finally, it would not be his men's blood that would spill, but his. Price reveled in the thought of his defeated enemy. "You have more questions for me. I realize that. I'll try to answer everything as best as I can, but you'll have to give me a minute to get everything out. No interrupting." He gave her a knowing look, and Queen winced.

Price surely didn't expect her to understand everything instantly. He knew it'd take her a while to get her mind wrapped around the fact that she'd been living in her future self's life. But he hoped she would really listen as best as she could and not cut in with more questions. He hated having to repeat himself.

Queen pulled her eyes from his gaze instantly, drawing them to a blank space on the inside of the tent. Her face became paler than usual, Price noticed. The blood seemed to withdraw from her cheeks, giving her skin a pasty shade. He grimaced tersely, ashamed that he was the one responsible for her tension.

"First," Queen began, coughing. "I wanna know _how_ you knew I was a younger version of Queen? I mean, you _just_ met me. How did you—"

"Soap," Price said simply. "Soap told me of a woman in the One-Four-One who only feared swimming underwater, and nothing else. Not even hand-to-hand combat bothered her." He raised his eyebrows to imply his point, and she nodded. "When I saw you… er… _overreact_ earlier, I grew very suspicious. Soap informed me that Queen _used_ to be afraid of dealing with close combat, but Ghost had helped her break that fear through extensive training when she joined the team. Even _Ghost's_ a bit dumbfounded as to why you acted so erratically, but he also didn't seem to mind that you instantly went to _him_ for comfort."

At this, Queen blushed profoundly. "I-It's a long story…"

Price promptly held up his hands in front of his chest. "A story I'm not too sure I'm ready to hear, sweetheart." He rolled his shoulders and shook himself vigorously, as if to rid himself of a heavy shiver. "Anyway, I was also shown a photo of the Task Force from a few months ago, and noticed that—for some reason—you looked much older in the picture than you did in real life. Soap and the others all assumed that you looking younger was some sort of stage in a woman's life—keep in mind that these men have never worked alongside a woman in the military before. Since I, in fact, have an older sister, and I've seen how a woman ages, I knew you hadn't suddenly grown younger, and that there was some back story. I just had no idea it was _this_ back story."

Queen stared at him for a moment, letting her round grey eyes sink earnestly into the base of his subconscious.

"You really are smart for an old man who was stuck in a hole for five years," she remarked bluntly, which took him aback at first. After a second of contemplation, he realized that she spoke the truth—even locked away in the gulag could put no damper on his noteworthy intelligence.

"Why, thank you," Price replied, smirking and dipping his head. When he glanced back up, he asked, "Any more questions for me?" He hoped not. It was getting late, and they were headed out quite early tomorrow for the Boneyard. His bed in the tent nearby seemed to be calling to him through the darkening base.

Queen drummed a finger on her chin, deep in thought. "I don't think so… but can I give you a quick summary of what I've learned, and you can correct me if I'm wrong?"

Price nodded._ Easy enough._

Taking a deep breath, Queen began.

"So Thomas Green visited the future, returned home, made a video game to warn everyone, and no one noticed. He was your close friend, and told you about… _everything_…?"

"_Most_ everything," Price corrected. "He neglected to tell me what happens when Soap and I go to Afghanistan, and you and Ghost head to the estate." Price shut his eyes for a minute to recollect the day when Thomas refused to disclose any more information to him. Price had gotten quite angry with his friend, imploring Thomas to warn him if something terrible would happen. (Even then, Price had not believed Thomas's unsettling tale, but he'd still wanted to know what the end would look like.) But Thomas had dismissed Price's pleads, saying _Whatever happens, every loose end will be tied up at some point._ That sentence had driven him mad with discomfort, as if something _truly_ horrible would happen at the end… as if they _wouldn't_ find Makarov so easily… as if they'd lose someone… "Thomas said it would be bad if I knew the truth," Price said finally, sitting up straight in the chair.

"Okay… so you were told _most_ everything. Now, I was playing the video game Green created in the year 2010, and was suddenly whisked into the game to replace my future self…" Queen groaned. "I still can't get over that… I'm guessing I don't go to college, then?"

Price did the math on his fingers. She was supposed to be twenty-three now, in 2016. She was really seventeen. His eyebrows curved downward sympathetically. _Poor lass. Only seventeen, and she's seen the horrible elements of war up close._

"You graduating high school?" he asked.

"I'm about to enter my senior year," she responded. "And _then_ I was supposed to head to the University of Florida for college…" She swore under her breath, realizing something horrible. "My dad's gonna be _beyond pissed_ at me if I join the Army Rangers instead of getting my degree…" She moaned again and facepalmed.

"Your father ain't the lenient type, eh?" Price said slowly, not wanting to force her into divulging anything she didn't want to.

She shook her head. "Definitely not. Rigid as a rock. I swear, he'll _kill_ me the second I _hypothetically speak_ about not going to college." When Price eyed her confusedly, Queen sighed. "You want the whole story? Fine. Let's just say that he's a very serious, business-oriented man. He worked for years in New York City as a photographer. He took pictures of buildings, historic sites, fountains… everything, really. His entire life was his job. And then he met my mom, who was a fashion model there in the seventies and eighties. She never completely became his life, which has recently become their downfall. They moved to Pensacola, Florida when I was born so my mom could work as a spokeswoman for the city, since she retired from modeling. My dad had to leave his home, which, eventually, ruined him." Queen paused. "And now my brother and I have to hear the two of them scream at each other every day. They'll divorce soon, I know. There's no use trying to hide it." She sighed and ran a hand through her curling red hair. "So yeah, when I get home and tell my dad I want to bypass college and head for the army, I'm going to be slaughtered…"

Price stood from the chair and went over to sit next to her. He put a comforting hand on her back.

"He won't 'slaughter' you, Queen. Sure, he'll be angry, but he's your father. He's only looking out for you. And every father wants their son or daughter to get an education."

Queen glanced up at him. "S-So if I get it over with as soon as I get home, you think I'll survive?"

Chuckling, Price patted her shoulder. "You'll survive. I know it." Suddenly, a thought washed over him, and his face grew solemn. His blue eyes darkened rapidly.

"What?" Queen inquired.

Price laid his elbows in his lap and leaned forward. "I'm jus' hoping _we_ survive the next mission, lass. Thomas never told me what happens…"

Something odd glimmered behind Queen's grey irises for a millisecond, but before Price could ask her what was wrong, the strange look had vanished. Instead, Queen stood from the cot and motioned for him to do the same.

"It's getting late," she said briskly. "I'm gonna go to bed. We have to get up early tomorrow morning, right?"

"Yep, your chopper leaves for the Georgian-Russian border at three o'clock in the morning." Price was a bit bemused as to why she was acting so edgy all of a sudden, but he had imposed enough by wondering about her family situation. He headed for the tent exit. "I'll say goodbye to you tomorrow." He pulled a smile. "Goodnight, Queen. I hope I made it easy for you to understand, and I'm sorry you had to deal with all of this."

She shrugged. "It's okay, Price. Goodnight."

Price buttoned his coat and headed out into the base's frigid air towards his own tent, Thomas Green's agitating words booming through his head.

_Whatever happens, every loose end will be tied up at some point._

What did he mean?

* * *

Dunn: Can we at least TRY it out?

ecto1B: No.

Dunn: Oh, c'mon! I bet it'll work better than my name! ^.^

ecto1B: It's a stupid idea, and you're stupid if you think it'll work better than **DUNN DUNN DUNN**

Dunn: Hey! Don't insult me! I have fans! They'll protect me!

ecto1B: Uh, Dunn, you have **_a_** fan. Ramirez counts as one person.

Dunn: Meanie. Can we please try it?

ecto1B: (groan) Fine...

**FOLEY FOLEY FOLEY**

{A wild Foley appeared}

Foley: Who called me?

Dunn: Shoot...

ecto1B: Now look what you've done!

Dunn: I'll handle him.

{Dunn uses STRANGLE}

{ecto1B uses ROUNDHOUSE KICK}

Dunn: OWW! THAT HURT! :'(

Foley: Thank you, ecto.

ecto1B: No problem. XD


	30. Almost There

Okay... so I lied. Loose Ends is NEXT. :D

Don't kill me. Please. You have to wait one more chapter for the CLIFFHANGER OF THE CENTURY!

The real reason this chapter isn't Loose Ends is because... well... Loose Ends is coming together, er, _rather slowly_. I dunno WHY it's taking me this long, but it is. I guess I'm scared to write the end of the chapter... O_O

**Question of the Chapter:** If you knew exactly when, why, and how you were going to die, and that time was fast approaching, what would you do? I'm pretty much asking you the same question Queen has to deal with, since it's already known she and Ghost "will die" at the end of Loose Ends... or will they? D:

**Tons of thanks to Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena for reading through a portion of this chapter for me. I just wanted to make sure it was... er... decent... XD **

Alrightie guys, that's about it! Enjoy!

**_-ecto1B_**

_**WARNING: SUGGESTIVE THEMES BELOW**_

* * *

Chapter 30:

Almost There

**Lt. Simon James 'Ghost' Riley**

**_###_**

_Call it instinct._

_Call it crazy._

_Call it a burdening gut feeling that sits at the pit of your stomach and slowly consumes any traces of sanity within your body._

_Call it whatever you'd like._

_But I knew it. I knew we were going to die. Capturing Makarov would not be easy. The intel we'd received for this safehouse location had not disclosed the number of men inside the estate, nor did it mention the firepower within the house. Why was that so? Because I knew—I just knew—this intel had been willingly handed over to us by Makarov himself. They were planning an assault._

_However, my hunch was not enough to worry MacTavish or Price. Queen seemed perturbed, and so did the rest of the team. But MacTavish said to ignore my troubling feeling and to just focus on the mission at hand. He also said everything would be fine._

_I'm still not too sure._

**_###_**

* * *

_Private First Class Mckinley Shane 'Queen' Front_

**###**

**I was so freaking scared.**

**Loose Ends.**

**As in the level where Ghost and Roach get shot point-blank.**

**As in the level where a majority of the Task Force is wiped out by Shepherd's men.**

**As in the level where I was supposed to DIE.**

**I was still trying to comprehend the fact that the entire game was going to happen when I returned home, but me returning home seemed impossible after Loose Ends came up.**

**I hardly spoke to ANYONE the next morning. When Price and Soap came to say goodbye, all I could really do was hug them to death. Soap was under the impression that I had been spooked by Ghost's little confession the night before, so he could understand my desperation when I nearly squeezed the living daylights out of him. But Price was caught a little off guard by my distress… I think it finally dawned on him that since I'd played Modern Warfare 2, I knew what was going to happen. And I thought he was smart. Wow. The funny thing was that he didn't have time to ask me what would happen, because the pave low was taking off as he figured it out. I was talking to Archer as we left, so I "didn't hear what Price yelled to the chopper." Oh well.**

**While we were on the chopper, Ghost kept me very close. He put his arms around me and literally wouldn't let me go. He didn't speak at all, which made the atmosphere in the pave low quite uncomfortable. I did my best to not burst out into tears on the way to the estate… though I knew I really should've been bawling my eyes out.**

**I think Ghost might've also sensed something, even though I was the only one who knew the truth. His grip around me was tighter than how I'd hugged Soap.**

**We were heading to our doom.**

**_###_**

* * *

(Just a note: I took it as if the Task Force arrived quite early at the Georgian-Russian border and set up a temporary camp. So, this is happening early in the morning, and they're about a mile away from Makarov's estate)

The forest was tranquil. Silent. A tired morning fog hung heavily in the air, soothing the restless soldiers and sending shivering winds across their pale, exposed cheekbones. The slender pines and firs that populated the woods remained still in their frigid earthen hold, but their elegant hair of leaves and needles fluttered in the wind. On the horizon, milky shades of cream, yellow and pink brushed each other's shoulders. The waxen hue they emitted turned the nearby lake to gold and the bark of the trees to white.

Though she had been told not to, Mckinley wandered away from the team's temporary camp to watch the gorgeous sunrise peak in the distance. She found a lone tree sitting by itself overlooking the sunrise and leaned against it. She sighed and pulled the zipper on her jacket over her chin and to her nose. Her breath escaped from the neckline, spilling out into the space in front of her eyes. She was very worried. In a few hours, the team would move from their temporary camp to Makarov's estate, where they'd take the house, retrieve the DSM, and then try to leave. But Shepherd… Mckinley clenched her fist and repelled any images she received with the thought of that evil man. He wouldn't be able to kill them… would he? If he killed her, would she not be able to return to the real world? Sighing, she studied the ethereal colors of the sunrise in amazement and tried to ignore the lingering subject haunting her.

"Queen?"

Mckinley spun around to see Ghost standing there, with his hands in his pockets and his mask rolled up to his ears. A mesmerizing pair of azure-shaded irises gazed lovingly at her over the hem of his balaclava. An amused smile was also perched upon his lips as he saw her alone from the other soldiers, despite his orders.

"I thought I told you not to wander off," he said, feigning severity. "A bear could'a gotten to you… or a fox…"

"Or a Russian?" Mckinley joked, stifling a giggle. Ghost raised his eyebrows and darkened his gaze. She recoiled, noticing she'd touched a soft spot. "I'm sorry, sir. I wanted to see the sunrise. I just noticed how pretty it was from this hill."

Ghost took a step forward, growing slightly stern. "Don't joke about that, Queen," he said, almost pleadingly. "You know I'm not gonna let any Russian lay a hand on you." His cheeks turned bright red. "And… um… I don't know about the sunrise, but I know that_ you_ look quite pretty from this hill," he told her shyly, sliding his foot in the dirt and glancing downward. "Much prettier than any sunrise I've seen."

Mckinley couldn't restrain herself any longer. She giggled timidly and covered her rosy cheeks with her glove. When she saw Ghost's bashful grin grow wider from the corner of her eye, Mckinley placed her forehead against the bark of the tree and took deep, silent breaths. _Act coy. Act flirty. Play hard to get. Maybe he'll—_

Suddenly, she felt hands slide around her waist, turning her around and leaning her on the tree. Fingers cautiously unzipped the top portion of her jacket, and then a pair of pale, chapped lips swathed the middle of her bare neck. As Ghost dragged his mouth lower on her skin, he spoke to her in an almost inaudible whisper.

"We're about to go capture Makarov," he said softly. "Some of us could die when we get to the estate. I could lose you…" Loosening her jacket a bit more, Ghost kissed the deep indent on the curve of Mckinley's neck, and then ran his tongue along the cold skin of her shoulder. Mckinley felt an excited shiver bombard her spinal cord at the feeling.

"You're not gonna lose me," she murmured tenderly, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and watching in delight as he brought his face back in her direction. He gave her earlobe a few taunting licks before kissing her eyelids. "I… I promise. It'll… it'll all be okay. We'll do this together. We'll defeat our enemies."

Ghost suspended his luxurious kissing to meet her gaze seriously. "Love… I… I don' wanna scare you, but I don' think that'll be the case. We got our intel without difficulty… as if Makarov willingly handed it over." He exhaled. "I think it may be the end for most of the team."

"No… don't say that…" she begged. "We're not gonna lose anyone. It's just another mission." She could hear herself trying to convince both her and Ghost, but it seemed like neither could buy such hollow words.

"I'm not trying to be pessimistic about it, love, but we have to consider all the possibilities." Ghost laid his lips on her jawbone and gentle nibbled the skin there. "This is gonna be helluva lot harder than anything we've ever faced. I can feel it."

"Anything _I've_ ever faced," she corrected him. "You're Superman; _you've_ faced everything. _You've_ taken on things thirty times scarier than anything I'll ever see in my entire lifetime. Why are you so worked up about this?"

"I just told you." His shoulders began to shake, and Mckinley felt her body being forced closer to the tree. "I fear losing the thing that's kept me sane for the past year. I've lost so much already, and I don't want to lose you, too." The dreary tone in his voice choked out more words. "I haven't told anyone this, but I've been having more horrifying dreams lately about this mission… about someone murdering you and 'Tavish."

Mckinley gasped.

"D-Dreams?"

"Awful. Vivid." Ghost nuzzled the crook of her neck like a young child cowering in his mother's comforting arms. "Unbearably painful. So incredibly mind-destroying that after every dream, I went to check on you and MacTavish in your tents to make sure I was just imagining things." He shuddered. "I can't begin to _fathom_ experiencing that missing feeling in real life."

It took Mckinley a few seconds to reply. She was completely shocked that he was—again—speaking so easily to her about his feelings.

"Ghost…" she murmured quietly, shivering as Ghost's breath tickled her neck. "I'm very… um… sorry that you had to see that. I never wanted the sight of me to be _painful_."

Instantly, he went rigid in her arms. "Wait, love, I never said _seeing_ you was painful. _Seeing_ you is like heaven on earth. But seeing someone hurting you is painful." Shoulders continuing to shake, he clutched her tighter. "Oh _God_, Queen… I can't… can't stand this waiting... I'm going _mad_ again…"

Mckinley put her hands on his shoulders to keep him against her; she'd sensed that he was about to start tearing up, and she wanted to be his shoulder to cry on, like he would for her.

"Shh… don't cry, Ghostie…" Carefully, she reached up and uncovered the rest of his face, dropping the balaclava on the ground. "Everything will be all right… I'm here… I'm fine, Soap's fine, nothing's the matter."

Ghost lifted his head off her shoulder and met her gaze with his tear-clouded blue eyes.

"I'm sorry that I'm acting so wary, love," he managed. "I just—"

His sentence was cut off, however, as Mckinley seized his lips with her own. She really didn't know why she'd acted so abruptly, but kissing Ghost seemed like the only logical thing to do. If he ranted any longer about their fate, she would've began crying her own tears. The two of them were to die by a point-blank shot, there was no doubt to that. Before it happened, though, she wanted to feel Ghost's passionate kiss one last time.

Much to her amusement, Ghost didn't seem at all startled by her spur-of-the-moment action. Instead, he growled hungrily and strengthened the motion of his jaws, sliding his lips effortlessly atop hers. Mckinley felt her body heat up when he slipped his tongue between her lips, letting the two tongues clash aggressively once they collided. She felt the thick scraggly indents on the tree bark dig into her back as the pressure Ghost applied intensified, but she paid no mind to the discomfort.

Soon, she felt his fingers pulling her legs around his waist in an act of desperation. He wanted complete control, as usual. Shrugging, Mckinley submitted. Her legs locked around him, only fastening herself to him further. The hold was overly stimulating, and she felt every inch of her body erupt into flame at his touch.

But when Ghost's hands dove eagerly for her belt buckle, Mckinley had to stop. She couldn't have this _now_, as their death inched closer with every beating second. Her mind wouldn't be able to focus when the mission came up. Reluctantly, Mckinley jerked her mouth away from him and flashed him a bemused look.

"_No_, Ghost," she scolded. "Not now." Her eyes darted around the sky, which had grown significantly bluer since she'd remembered. "Not _here_."

He looked crestfallen. "Why not?"

"We're in a _forest_, Ghost."

Shrugging, he raised his eyebrows. "Last time we had it off in a laundry room. Both abnormal locations where a bed was absent. I don't see the problem."

Mckinley rolled her eyes. "A minute ago you were telling me about how we're all gonna die, and now all you care about is 'doing it?'" She expected his face to turn a light shade of red in response, but he didn't seem to mind.

"You distracted me," he replied simply, putting his hands at her legs to keep them from sliding. "And this ninja grip you have on me is rather arousing, I must say. If anyone, it should be _you_ who wants to go through with it." He let his eyebrows curve downward imploringly.

"_I_ distracted _you_?" she half-screeched. "You're the one being all cute and sweet and innocent in my arms! What am I supposed to do?"

Ghost chuckled and pecked her on the cheek.

"Woah,_ someone's_ hyper," he teased, and she gasped sarcastically.

"Are you _trying_ to be mean?"

"No. Just trying to get you to let me unzip your pants."

She slapped him playfully across the cheek. "HEY! That's not funny!" Crossing her arms, Mckinley gave him a death-glare that caused him to burst out laughing.

"_What's so funny?_" she inquired hotly.

"I just now noticed how cute you are when you're angry," he responded. "That poor attempt at a nasty face only makes me want you even more than I already do." He smirked and kissed her straight on the mouth when she began to retort back.

Naturally, such spontaneous actions carried the two completely out of hand, but Mckinley had given up fighting. She was going to die. She deserved at least one more moment of passion before everything was destroyed.

* * *

Dunn: What a romantic ending... but **DUNN DUNN DUNN**, what will happen during Loose Ends?

Foley: (shrugs and cowers beneath blanket)

ecto1B: Ohmigosh, Dunn, you actually did the **DUNN DUNN DUNN** thing without being asked! Good boy!

Dunn: Yeah, I guess the reviews from last chapter made me happy.

SOME SUGGESTED MODERN WARFARE 2 STORIES TO CHECK OUT:

**The Red Dragon Redux** by Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena

**To Lead A Flock To Slaughter** by Emily 'Gadget' Robins

**A fine Line** by Erin Peepsta

**Haunting a Ghost** by GHOST oo007

**Our General Theory of Total World Domination** by AstroRen's UberNova (written as a collab with me)

**Fire** by Carovinee

**Chinese Fire Drills** by Dunedain789

**KAYBYE! ^_^**


	31. Loose Ends

THE LONGEST CHAPTER.

THE MOST INTENSE CHAPTER.

THE **OMFG **CHAPTER.

I hope you survive.

I didn't.

X_X That's me.

**Question of the Chapter:** Did you survive?

REVIEW PLEASE!

**_-ecto1B_**

WARNING: ROUGH LANGUAGE USED

* * *

Chapter 31:

**"Loose Ends"**

**Day 7 – 15:36:11**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

"Snipers in position," murmured Archer, crouching alongside Toad with his slender rifle grasped in his hands. Behind him, Mckinley prepared her ACR with deft glove-covered fingers. The air around them was cold and smelled of pine and fog: two very palatable scents that Mckinley could tell were sent to mislead the team into believing everything would run smoothly. Their current location was about a mile away from their temporary camp, so whatever they had with them would have to last. Weapons, ammo, frags, everything had to be enough to make it through the day. Back at the camp, Mckinley had hooked as many grenades onto her belt as possible, just in case. She also managed to bring ten claymores with her. They would come in handy when they were defending the computer at the estate.

From where they were standing, Makarov's estate gleamed in the near-distance. Beyond it sat multitudes of gorgeous mountains, caked with pearly-white snow. If they were there on vacation, Mckinley would've whipped out her camera and began snapping pictures of every vantage point on the overlook. The only negative to this heavenly perspective was the invasive sight of power lines on the horizon.

Mckinley shivered and hunched her shoulders together to produce warmth. A succulent wisp of sappy pine inched its way through her nostrils as she did so, making the hairs on her arms stand up beneath the jacket. This was so unreal for her. She'd despised this level with a fiery passion, and now making her way through it would become the scariest piece of shit she'd ever endure. Scarier than falling into Lake O'Neil that one summer. Scarier than making advances on Ghost. Scarier than finding out Modern Warfare 2 was based on real life.

Ghost was standing next to her on the small overlook leading down to a tree-lined clearing. His mask was on; his chunky headphones sat on his ears, and his mic swooped along the curve of his cheek and to his concealed lips. He also wore a grey hooded jacket, bulky green pants that harnessed up around his powerfully-built torso, and a pair of military-grade sneakers that resembled the desert-colored ones he'd wore at the favela. For once, Ghost was without his tan scarf, but by being able to see the entirety of his bizarre black mask, she was reminded of the night in the laundry room they'd spent together. A pang of longing consumed her at the rare sight. It struck her as terrifying that she might never again feel the warmth of his arms around her, but then again, there was a chance she could stop Shepherd… wasn't there?

"Strike team go," Ghost said monotonously into the radio, snapping Mckinley out of her daydreaming. "Engage Makarov on sight."

"Roger that," Scarecrow responded.

"Solid copy," said Ozone, tapping his temple.

Ghost motioned for the small group of three on the cliff to proceed behind him as they made their way towards the safehouse. "Let's go. Let's go."

Mckinley, trudging at the rear, kept her head down, her gun ready, and her eyes open wide. They were entering a small clearing where the ambush would begin in an erratic chaos. The forest encircling it was deathly silent, acting as an omen of what was to come. With every cracking leaf and twig beneath their feet came flinches from everyone. The soldiers felt like young teenagers in a haunted woods on a dare; fearing everything that moved and yelping at the smallest rustle or snap. In an effort to preserve their sanity, they trained their eyes on the target in the distance, but every so often, the wind would whisper between the trees and a soldier would jump in alarm.

Ahead of Mckinley, a small group of six 141 soldiers, Boxer, Hannibal, Spider, Reaper, and Bishop, crouched in the grass a few yards ahead of them. Camouflaged ACRs were held within their unsteady grips, visibly shaking. They were the first wave that would clear the area, and, sadly, the most likely to fall under gunfire. Mckinley scanned her eyes across the tree line, and then to the huge cliff shadowing the grassy area. Where were the Russians? The others weren't picking up any activity as far as she could tell. Archer and Toad, who were not only handling the Javelin, were also in charge of thermals for this mission. They hadn't noted any abnormalities yet.

"Ghost, should we advance?" she asked him once she reached his side. The lieutenant had paused next to a slender pine, crouching at its roots and drawing his eyes about the landscape. When Mckinley caught up, he glanced at her momentarily before nodding.

"All right, squad." He spoke into his radio to the five men waiting ahead. "Take it easy. Let's go."

Just as the men started forward, a combination of twenty or so landmines appeared from underneath the mud and grass, swirling in midair and screaming their satanic cries at the task force. Mckinley instantly dropped to her stomach and shielded her head from the exploding mine. Everyone else reacted much slower, only narrowly missing the screeches of the explosives.

"AMBUSH!" roared Ghost, stating the obvious and vanishing behind a smog of blackness.

When the mine went off, Mckinley's entire body was showered in a spray of dirt and rubble. Everything in her eyesight went grey and disoriented as she was blown straight backwards. Her spine slammed into the rugged bark of a tree; a small but noticeable crack ripped from her bones and up through her ears. She cried out in pain and slid to the base of the tree, partially limp. An excruciating grimace glued to her face.

"TARGETS! LEFT SIDE! LEFT SIDE!" Ghost bellowed nearby, and she watched through the smoke as his burly figure scrambled to stand. His gun fell from his hand once, but he scooped it up and joined the barrage of returning gunfire that the others supplied towards the enemy.

Explosions rocketed everywhere. Long snakes of smoke billowed from the cliff nearby, drifting down and settling on the grass. The once noiseless forest had become a theater of warfare. Every shade of yellow and gold imaginable was contained within that small sector, erupting each time an RPG was fired. The Russians that lined the high walls bombarded the clearing with everything they had. Relentlessly, they stormed the task force with gunfire, RPGs and mortars, and only when they fell did they stop.

"They've got this area presighted for mortar fire!" Scarecrow announced randomly. Mckinley spotted him a few yards ahead, ducking behind a tree at the end of the meadow and becoming engulfed in a settling abyss of grey.

_Oh, yeah… God forbid the enemy has freaking __**mortars**__ to use on us. We are __**so**__ screwed._ With every ounce of her strength, Mckinley used her fingers to pull herself up from the ground. She coughed wildly, stabilized herself, and retrieved her ACR from the grass. The pain in her spine sent unpleasant shocks echoing through her nerves, but she fought it out and hustled across the clearing to where Ghost stood.

"Counterattack into the smoke!" Ghost yelled, glancing over his shoulder and grabbing her arm. "Push push push!" With a forceful nudge, Ghost urged her into the safety of the fog while mortars crash-landed behind them. "Queen, you're gonna get hit by a mortar! Lose 'em in the smoke! Go! Go! Go!"

The grey overcame her senses, and she felt herself evaporate into the labyrinth of charcoal vapor with Ghost at her heels.

"Breach and clear the safehouse! Go! Go!"

Mckinley staggered after them, falling slightly behind the majority of the group. She wiped her sweat-ridden brow and took deep, calming breaths to rejuvenate her poorly circulated bloodstream. Nasty pangs hadn't ceased pinching on her spine since the blow from the landmine, but she pressed on. Since they were nearing such a pivotal moment in the game, pain didn't seem to mean much to her. What was to come was surely twenty times worse than the insignificant throbbing in her back.

The group had successfully survived the ambush in the woods, and had just finished trekking up a gradually sloping hill to Makarov's estate. Of course, they'd had to deal with two bulletproof trucks making their way from the safehouse and another assault of Russian troops on the way there, but thankfully, all of the team had survived. Now all they had to do was swarm the house, retrieve the DSM, and hopefully outwit Shepherd before he massacred the entire team.

Makarov's safehouse was actually a nice-looking home from the outside. Built on a hillside overlooking a bountiful amount of the Caucasus mountain range, the estate was built like any other mountain lodge. Dark colored woods and paint decked the house in a secretive ambience. The lawn and landscaping about the house hadn't been tended to in quite some time, it seemed, for the grass stretched out and curled itself around other ferns, rocks, and plants. In the log-lined driveway, multiple barrels and crates—once filled with weapons and ammo, now empty—lined the potholed asphalt. On the far side of the pavement was a half-painted fence that had a random dirty mattress leaning against it. Pieces of trash and empty food containers lined the path up to the front door where Ghost waited. The house also had a wooden wrap-around porch complete with a grill, a propane heater, and some green chairs. If it weren't in use by Makarov, Mckinley would've believed the house to be the perfect place for an older, retired couple to retreat to. The fact that the house had no neighbors for miles and sat on a large piece of land was favorable for both an easy-going family home and an Ultranationalist terrorist hideout.

The team dispersed to different entrances of the house, readying themselves to breach. Ghost and Mckinley were positioned at the front door; Ozone went for the side door; Scarecrow waited against a low window; the rest of the team scattered slightly behind the others, preparing for a firefight when the doors opened.

Mckinley leaned her shoulder on the wooden front door, facing inward towards her lieutenant. She watched him raptly as he reloaded his gun and adjusted the headphones on his head. When he finished, he glanced up at her, tilting his head in confusion.

"What?"

She blushed. "Nothing."

Ghost looked briefly to his left, checking to see if any of the task force was there. When he was certain no one was watching, Ghost reached up and put a hand on her cheek, caressing her cheekbone tenderly. His gloves were warm.

"You ready?" he asked slowly.

With a deep breath, she nodded. "Ready as I'll ever be." Mckinley reached over her shoulder and retrieved a breaching charge from her back. "You?"

He removed his hand from her face and sighed. "The sooner this is over, the better." Ghost motioned his head towards the door. "Whenever you're ready, love, do it."

Mckinley didn't want to do it. In fact, she _wasn't _ready. She would _never_ be ready. But Ghost watched her in anticipation, waiting for that moment when the door would burst open wide. She'd faked confidence only to build his. Both of them wanted to finish the mission as soon as possible. The only question now was_ how_ it would end.

When she slammed the breaching charge on the door and took a step backwards, Mckinley's mind went blank for a fleeting second, but her thoughts returned as the slow-motion breach overwhelmed everything.

_One… two… three… _In slow-motion seconds, Mckinley took out three Russian soldiers—one to her left, one on the staircase, and another one standing nearby the main computers set up in the estate's living room. Once they had fallen, time returned to its original speed. Ghost, who was standing on her right, eliminated two Russians hiding behind a table, and then another one making his way towards them. Mckinley took the chance to reload her ACR, and Ghost poked his head into the connecting room. Throughout the house, Mckinley could hear the roaring of friendly gunshots taking out enemies in adjoining rooms, signaling to her that the rest of her team had made it successfully into the estate.

"Office clear!" Ghost announced into the radio after a round of gunfire was heard coming from him. "Ozone, make sure no one leaves through the kitchen."

"Roger that."

"Scarecrow, give me a sitrep." Ghost exited the office and went to stand next to Mckinley.

"No one's leaving through the front of the basement," came Scarecrow's reply, as serious as ever.

Mckinley pointed at the room behind the staircase, filled with weapons and ammo. "Ghost, the dining room hasn't been checked."

"Roger that." Ghost crouch-walked to where she'd been pointing and scanned around. She followed immediately behind him. "Dining room clear!" Ghost turned around. "Queen, go upstairs and check any locked rooms on the top floor. Breach and clear."

To add a bit of humor to such a serious situation—and to calm her nerves—Mckinley stood up straight and saluted her lieutenant. She choked back a goofy grin and let down the salute.

"Yessir, right away, sir."

Ghost chuckled, lowering his gun to rest at his side. She could see his blue eyes dance behind his tinted shades. "Don't mess with me, love. Jus' get up there and handle those tangos."

Mckinley rolled her eyes. "Fine." She gave him a playful shove and stalked back to the staircase. "But if you hear me scream, don't pretend you didn't hear me."

As her foot made contact with the top of the staircase, a loud manly battle cry erupted from the adjacent bathroom, and a Russian man popped out. He started to pull the trigger on her, but she—purely reflexive, of course—aimed one ideal shot at his mid-torso. He fell to the ground and was silent.

"Wow," she remarked to herself after a few silent seconds went by. "That was terrifying."

"You all right?" Ghost called on cue.

"I'm okay!" Mckinley peeked into the next room, which was full of dark green sleeping bags, luggage, a TV, and garbage. No enemies. She stepped back out into the hallway and saw that the door alongside the room she'd just entered was locked tight.

_Breaching charge._

Once that room was clear (four Russian soldiers, a stack of broken TV monitors, and a bathroom with a blow-up doll laying in the bathtub made up that rather gruesome room), Mckinley headed downstairs. Scarecrow stood at the base of the staircase, and when he saw her, he gave her a small nod.

"Top floor clear!" he declared.

"Roger that, top floor clear!" Ghost was standing in the dining room, glancing over a few of the rifles and handguns the Russians had displayed. "Queen, go with Scarecrow and check the basement for enemy activity. Breach and clear."

"So nothing new," Mckinley said jokingly to Scarecrow, and the two of them walked through the kitchen and down the basement steps to clear the rest of the house.

"Basement clear!" Scarecrow jogged back up the steps alongside Mckinley. After ridding the basement of any remaining enemies, the two were now allowed to rejoin the rest of the task force upstairs.

"Copy, basement clear!" Ghost echoed, his voice buzzing from the radio's speaker. "All clear. Squad, regroup on me."

Stifling a bout of laughter at the unbelievable _That's what she said_ line he'd not meant to say, Mckinley met up with Ghost in the foyer of the house. He dipped his head in acknowledgement, and she copied his movement with an added smile.

The entire team gathered around in the foyer. Scarecrow and Ozone hung near where Mckinley stood, awaiting orders. Boxer and Hannibal chatted under their breaths about the weapons cache in the armory. Spider, the newest recruit on the Task Force, wiped off the blood from his melee knives with a purple dishrag from the kitchen. Reaper retied his combat boots, and Bishop pulled out his cross from around his neck to pray.

"Scarecrow, photographs." Ghost denoted the multiple tables in the living room, covered in newspaper clippings and large blue sheets of paper.

"Roger that."

_If I hear 'roger that' one more time, I'm going to scream._

Ghost pressed his finger to his headphones to steady the sound. "Shepherd, this is Ghost. No sign of Makarov, I repeat, no sign of Makarov." Mckinley clenched her fist and resisted the urge to start swearing. Shepherd was definitely not on her good list… well, he had _never_ been there, let alone _seen_ her good list. "Captain Price, any luck in Afghanistan?"

"Plenty…" replied the gruff British man. "At least fifty hired guns here, but no sign of Makarov. Perhaps our intel was off."

"Well the quality of the intel's about to change. This safehouse is a bloody gold mine."

Mckinley had to slam her hand over her mouth to prevent her enraged growl from being heard as Shepherd spoke.

"Copy that. Ghost, have your team collect everything you can for an operations playbook. Names, contacts, places, everything."

"Bitch," Mckinley muttered lividly, not trying to be loud.

Ghost flashed her a startled look. Apparently she'd been loud enough for him to hear. He studied her momentarily, as if he couldn't understand why she'd swore, or whom she was calling a bitch. Still eyeballing her from behind his shades, he slowly responded to Shepherd.

"We're already on it, sir. Makarov will have nowhere to run."

"That's the idea. I'm bringing up the extraction force. E.T.A. five minutes. Get that intel. Shepherd out."

_Five minutes my ass. _

Mckinley unclenched her hands and began whistling nonchalantly. Her eyes darted above at the woodwork making up the ceilings and banisters, pretending to be engrossed in their complexity. When Ghost crossed his arms and leaned slightly to the right, she whistled louder and began strolling about the living room.

Ghost wasn't buying it.

"Queen, who were you callin' a bitch?" There was no flirtation or amusement cloaked around his British accent. Only a humorless drone.

"Erm… _no one_," she answered evasively, grazing her eyes across a map of an airport tacked to the wall. Slender red arrows traced inside the entirety of the airport's walls.

"_Who_, Queen?"

She sighed and bit her lip, devising a practical lie that she could get him to believe. "I was calling myself a bitch. My spine is killing me, and so are my legs. I feel like a cripple."

From the living room, Scarecrow's eyes widened suspiciously.

"I promise, sir, I would never call you or Shepherd a bitch. I'm sorry if it sounded that way." She threw in the formalities to emphasize her fib, demonstrating its false integrity and hoping they'd all buy into her lie. She locked her gaze onto Ghost's and gave him a tiny but adorable pout. Perhaps that would help her cause.

It was only a few moments before Ghost exhaled in defeat. He was no match for her puppy-dog pout. "All right, I believe you." He chuckled, smothering it behind his smiling skull mask, and jabbed his thumb at the computers nearby. "Queen, get on Makarov's computer and start the transfer. Ozone, you're on rear security. I've got the front. Bishop, Spider, you're with me. Hannibal, go with Ozone. Reaper will stay here with Scarecrow and Queen. Now let's move!"

"On my way." Ozone gave Mckinley a thumbs up before starting down the basement steps with Hannibal. Instantly, Mckinley remembered that both Ozone and Scarecrow wouldn't make it out of the level alive (the others, she wasn't so sure about). Quickly she dashed forwards and pulled Ozone into a tight hug, and then moved on to Hannibal.

"Survive this," she instructed them firmly. "I wanna see you guys untouched when the fight is over."

Hannibal smiled. "Of course, Queen."

"Will do, ma'am," said Ozone. "You be careful, too."

"I will," she replied, feigning sincerity.

Once they vanished into the basement, Mckinley went to Bishop, Spider and Ghost waiting in the foyer. She hugged each one, faking a confident grin on her face and doing her best not to break down and cry.

"You better not be saying goodbye, love," Ghost told her, almost pleadingly, when she hugged him. "You were the one tellin' me we would survive this. Don't go back on what you said at a time like this."

Out of view from the other soldiers, she kissed his masked cheek, but didn't say anything in reply to his statement. She didn't have the heart to tell the truth.

"Task Force, this is Price." Mckinley and the team reentered military mode when the captain spoke. "More of Makarov's men just showed up at the Boneyard… Soap, cover me. I'm gonna slot that guy over there and use his radio to listen to their comms. Ghost, we're going silent for a few minutes. Good luck up there in Russia. Price out."

_No… Price… don't go, please. When you leave, everything will start to go wrong. The next time you and Soap check in with us will be when Ghost and I are lying in a ditch, being burned alive by Shepherd. Don't go._

It was too late. Price was gone.

Ghost faced Mckinley once again. All compassion had drained from his eyes, replaced with a fervent determination that would carry him all the way to the end of the mission. His eyes didn't even smile at her. They stared deep into her soul, and her soul ached in response.

_Man, I am gonna miss you, Ghostie. All you've been is good to me._

"Queen, connect the DSM to Makarov's computer. We're not leaving without this intel." He dragged his gaze to each of the soldiers standing in the house with him: Scarecrow, Bishop, Spider, Reaper and Mckinley. While he spoke, Mckinley linked the DSM to the computer and began the program that Ghost had taught her about the day before. "Now listen up, men." Mckinley raised an eyebrow at Ghost. "_And_ women. Sorry." She shrugged. "Makarov's men are going to do whatever it takes to keep us from leaving with this intel. We need to protect the DSM until the transfer's done. Use the weapons caches and set up your claymores if you've got any left." He, Bishop, and Spider began walking outside to the front of the house. "Defensive positions! Let's go!" Saluting Mckinley like a true soldier, he brought his group into a jog, and they disappeared out into the driveway.

Thinking hastily for a moment, Mckinley decided that she'd forgotten to tell Ghost something. She left the computer and rushed to the front threshold. Already, Ghost and his group were setting claymores around the perimeter.

"Ghost!" she called. "I forgot something! Come here!"

In response, a loud, partially-aggravated sigh came from him that made Mckinley giggle. He jogged back over to her and looked down into her eyes.

"_What_?"

She kissed the skull on his balaclava straight on the mouth.

"I love you."

Ghost laughed. "Love you too. Now get back to work on that DSM, if you would. The downloading will only take a few minutes, and when it's done, we'll need to—"

"Get the hell outta here," she finished for him. "I _know_. Just don't die, Ghostie. Please. For my sake."

"I won't. Now _go!_" He nudged her back past the doorway. "The house is the safest place for you; you'll be okay inside. Stay close to Scarecrow and Reaper."

Just then, Archer revealed some terrifying news.

"Enemy fast-attack choppers comin' in from the northwest."

Ghost put a hand to his headphones. "Roger that. Enemy helos approaching from the northwest." He pushed Mckinley further inside the foyer. "Get inside _now_. They're comin'." He paused. "_I love you_."

And with that, Ghost spun around and went to rejoin Bishop and Spider.

Mckinley started to head back to the computer, but was alarmed when Scarecrow and Reaper dashed past her and through the front door.

"_What_ are you two doing?" she yelled, beginning to feel the side-effects of trepidation eat at her spine. "You can't just leave me here by myself!"

"We gotta cover the front lawn!" Scarecrow called back.

On fast feet, Mckinley ran back to the computer and reloaded her ACR. She glanced at the computer screen and saw the large green letters that said:

**FILES COPIED: 56/2067**.

Then came Ozone's voice. "I'm moving to the main windows. I need someone to mine and cover the driveway approach."

From the large window in the living room, Mckinley watched in pure horror as a dozen helicopters landed in the front yard, each overflowing with Russian soldiers who would do anything to keep the task force's hands off of Makarov's intel. They each held huge, elegant weapons and were all in need of a good shave. Mckinley ducked next to the computer table and watched as the numbers slowly increased.

"RPG team approaching from the west!" Archer notified them, raising his voice an octave.

"Solid copy! RPG team approaching from the west!"

"Ghost, why are you repeating everything poor Archer says?" Mckinley asked. "Just focus on not dying, 'kay?"

She didn't get to hear his response, because just then, a flashbang soared in from the front door, landing a few feet away from her. She shut her eyes immediately, but was unable to resist the flashbang's bright explosion. Everything in her vision was blurry and disoriented. Mckinley's hands scrambled for the nearest support, knocking over a few things on the table before getting a grip on the computer monitor. Shaking her head vigorously to rid her eyes of the blinding light, she heard the tiny whiz of a bullet traveling inches from her ear.

"Queen!" Someone grabbed her arm and shoved her back underneath the table. _Well that was rude. _"Stay there for a second! I'm gonna set my claymores around the door so they don't come in."

Only when the figure galloped away did her vision return, and she recognized the figure to be Ozone. She watched in panic as he dashed to the foyer and began frantically planting claymores into the ground.

_Dammit, Ozone, why do you have to be the hero?_

She snatched a glance at the computer screen.

**FILES COPIED: 246/2067**

_Not going as fast as I'd like it to move, but okay._

Mckinley instinctively leapt to her feet and sprinted to Ozone's side. Without a second thought, she mimicked his actions, practically tossing each of her claymores around the door. Ozone gave her a momentary look of disapproval, but he didn't seem to be in the mood to demand she go back and hide. The sooner they set the explosives, the sooner the enemy would be repelled, and the easier it would become to escape with the DSM.

Sweat dripped in buckets from her brow. Mckinley only paused once to mop it up with her jacket sleeve. She was curious as to why she was sweating so much in such cold weather, but the answer became clear in seconds. As the two soldiers unloaded their extensive load of claymores from their packs, Mckinley glanced out the door to the front yard.

What she saw explained why her body was puking up so much sweat.

A legion of Russian men surged towards the house.

_And they didn't look too happy._

"Queen, the transfer's complete! I'll cover the main approach while you get the DSM!"

She spotted Ghost make a break for the threshold. Heart pounding, Mckinley bolted back through the house, ducking and dodging hundreds of bullets on her way to the DSM. Her entire body screamed in agony, begging to be given a rest, but there was no time to take a break. The DSM was done loading. They had to get it.

Her red hair flapped about her damp face, and a dozen newly awakened cuts on her leg that had scarred through her healing burns stung like the devil. She'd tripped over a shelf of porcelain plates earlier, cutting her pant leg open and causing red trickles of blood to slither out of their hiding places. And a burly Russian hiding in the office had butted her shoulder with his gun, giving her a bruise. She would've loved to stop running and shooting, but it wasn't the time.

Scarecrow was dead. So was Spider—the new recruit—and Hannibal. They'd hollered their last cries before plummeting onto the ground and falling silent. Mckinley was grateful she'd not seen any of their deaths up close, for she would've cried her eyes out. Ozone and Bishop weren't answering their radios, so they were assumed dead as well. Reaper and Boxer were still with them, but Reaper had been shot in the arm and was very weak.

Leaping over a fallen couch in the middle of the room, Mckinley snatched the DSM from its place on the computer table and stuck inside her jacket's inside pocket. She wasn't about to give it to the enemy without a fight. _Including_ Shepherd.

Right as she began huffing out a long string of swear words directed to the lovely general of the task force, he conveniently spoke from her radio.

"This is Shepherd. We're almost at the LZ. What's your status, over?"

Mckinley spun around and rejoined Ghost, who waited for her at the foot of the doorway. His gloves and pants were ridden with blood, but he didn't seem to care. Like a gentleman, he offered his hand to her as she hurried down the steps, but their fast-paced run kept them from holding hands for long.

"We're on our way to the LZ! Queen, let's go!"

Queen wiped the sweat from her jaw with the base of her palm. She choked back tears as the two of them proceeded towards a larger field about 200 yards behind the estate. On the way, Reaper caught up with them. Blood seeped from his wound, and his face was chalky white.

"WHERE'S BOXER?" she yelled over the pound of nearing gunfire.

"Dead," Reaper croaked. His Adam's Apple bobbed wildly in his neck, fighting the compulsion to fall to the ground and rest. "I saw it."

Mckinley dipped her head sadly.

"I'm sorry, Rea—"

Ghost looked over his shoulder. "Queen! Hurry! We gotta get to the LZ! They're bracketing our position with mortars!" Mckinley instantly noticed the enormous explosions rocketing around the trees. _Shit._ "Keep moving, but watch your back!"

Something hit her. Mckinley froze in place; her brain was already running through the plot of Loose Ends before it commanded her legs to stop. _Approach the estate._ The end was nearing. Quickly. _Avoid getting hit by the mortars. Wait for Archer and Toad to use the Javelin on the trucks. _Shepherd would step from his chopper and ask for the DSM. _Hurry up the hill to Makarov's estate._ She'd hand him the DSM, and he'd pull out his pistol and shoot her point-blank in the stomach. _Breach and clear the house._ Then she'd fall to the ground. Ghost would scream "NO!" and whip out his own gun. _Upload the information from the computer and defend the DSM._ But Shepherd would be too fast. He'd easily fire a shot at Ghost's stomach and sent the masked man to the dirt. _Wait five minutes until the DSM finishes uploading. Retrieve the DSM and head for the LZ._ Then Shepherd would have both of them tossed into a ditch. His men would pour gasoline all over their bodies. _Run to the LZ and hand Shepherd the DSM._ Then Shepherd would flick his lighted cigar onto them and set them alight. They would burn alive.

_Don't get killed by Shepherd._

The thought was rebellious. It was unorthodox. Outlandish. _Promising._ She could do it. It would be going against the entire game, not to mention the future itself, but she had to do it. Ever since she started playing Modern Warfare 2, she had to save Ghost. Ghost died for her. He stood by her side while her parents fought and argued upstairs. He never abandoned her. He loved her. He'd held her in his arms. He couldn't die. No. She would rather herself be slaughtered than have Ghost fall at the hands of Shepherd. The idea seemed absurd and unworkable, but she knew she had to try. No longer would she have to restart the game to see Ghost's balaclava-covered face. No longer would she sit back and watch Shepherd kill him. Now the video game had no control over what she could and couldn't do. No longer would she let the game decide her fate.

Ghost would not die.

In a frenzied haste, Mckinley thought up a genius plan. A plan that had a small chance of working, only if she did everything perfectly. It was a plan that was built off the hundreds of strategies she'd mused over as she lay in bed, wondering just how she'd save Ghost if she was able to. Now that the opportunity was there, her plan would have to succeed.

Even while Ghost seized her hand and screamed her out of her whirling thoughts, Mckinley was setting her plan in motion. She dropped her half-empty ACR in the grass and whipped out her M9—the M9 that would save her and Ghost's sorry asses from getting killed by Shepherd. The first step in her plan was to use the M9 as much as possible.

"QUEEN!" Ghost yelled hoarsely, running behind her now. "HURRY! THE LZ IS UP AHEAD!"

Mckinley knew she had to ignore him temporarily. She slowed and began jogging backwards to take out the advancing Russian troops from behind them. Her M9 fired off rapid shots, and soon her first clip was empty. Deft fingers reloaded the gun.

"QUEEN! WHAT'RE YOU DOING? LET'S GO!"

_Ten bullets left…. nine… eight… _

She began counting in her head, shrugging off Ghost's desperate hands as he tried to pull her along with him.

_Seven bullets left… six… five…_

Ghost snatched her around her waist.

"C'MON! I'M NOT LEAVIN' YOU!"

_Four… three bullets left… _

Ghost released his hold on her and charged on, hoping she'd follow. Mckinley continued to fire, however, taking out as many Russians as she possibly could with the remaining bullets in her M9.

_Two bullets left… one…_

"QUEEN! LOOK OUT!"

Everything went black.

She thought she was dead.

* * *

Light seemed like it'd never enter her eyes ever again. She'd been hit by a mortar. She'd felt the shrapnel pierce her side and dig into her skin and tissue, taking its time to meet each crucial point of her body and give her the worst pain she'd ever experienced. Light wasn't coming back… was it? Her ears still worked. More explosions detonated around her, but she couldn't hear Ghost. The gunfire and the mortars were too loud.

_Is this the after-effect of death? Hearing what was going on when you died?_

"I've got you, Queen! Hang on!"

And her angel was above her. Well, more like her ghost. His voice proved he was beside himself with panic, for every note Ghost hit was strained and crushed. He grabbed the area below her arms and began to drag her through the grass towards the LZ.

"Thunder-Two-One, I've popped red smoke in the treeline! Standby to engage on my mark!"

_Who the hell is he talking to?_

"Roger that. I have a visual on the red smoke. Standing by."

_Shepherd's men. Shit. Don't trust them, babe. They're gonna kill us. Please don't drag me over to Shepherd. My plan might not work._

Fumbling around, Mckinley took hold of her M9 and squeezed the pistol's handle so tight that it hurt. The M9. It would have to work. It would have to count. It would have to save them.

The explosions and fire in her eyes were endless. The enemy's mortars would not cease. It frightened her. What if one got Reaper? He'd vanished from sight when they'd neared the LZ. What if he was dead?

Once Ghost had dragged her far enough away from the treeline, he spoke again to the helicopter. "Thunder-Two-One, cleared hot!"

A slick black chopper descended into her line of vision. It began annihilating every Russian soldier in sight with its machine gun. Soon, the gunfire upon Mckinley and Ghost was no more.

The pain in her body intensified all of a sudden. Her mind began to grow hazy once more; the objects she could see became fuzzy. Her chest throbbed angrily with incessant pain. She couldn't keep her eyes open much longer…

"QUEEN, HANG IN THERE!"

Black consumed her once more.

* * *

When she awoke again, Ghost was lifting her from the ground and putting her arm on his shoulder. His body was warm and soothing, and Mckinley desperately wanted him to hold her.

"C'mon, get up!" he begged. "Get up! Get up! We're almost there!"

As best as she could, Mckinley prepared herself to initiate the plan. A small slip-up could cost them their lives, and she was not ready to lose the man she loved so easily. Shepherd would have to fight.

The huge chopper landed before them, and the back opened up to reveal the man she hated with a fiery passion, General Shepherd. Once the ramp was down, the cameo-clad man with a handlebar moustache and an unsmiling face jogged over to them casually. Mckinley clenched her hand around the M9.

"Do you have the DSM?" he asked, coming forward and pretending to help Mckinley stand along with Ghost. She gripped the M9 in her right hand and planted her foot back slightly, getting set in position.

_You crazy bitch. You're not killing us off, no matter how determined you are to do so. I've got the upper hand._

"We got it, sir!" Ghost said, out of breath.

"Good. That's one less loose end."

As Shepherd reached down and took his pistol from its holster on his belt, Mckinley took a deep breath. When he brought the barrel of the gun to her stomach, she did the only thing she knew would work. She'd planned this. She had to do it at the right moment, or Shepherd would realize what was happening and react.

But it worked.

She dodged.

She defied the game.

She saved both of their lives.

Shepherd missed.

Fortunately, she fell straight into Ghost, who supplied a soft landing for her. The two collided and landed on the dirt; Ghost's sunglasses fell from his wide blue eyes, and those same eyes locked on the general that had just attempted to kill Mckinley.

Shepherd's bullet missed her torso by centimeters. She heard it clearly to her right as she toppled over, and instantly began reciting The Lord's Prayer in her head. But it wasn't over yet. He still had a gun in his hands that he could easily fire again and hit its intended target lying helpless on the ground.

That's where M9 came in handy.

Before Shepherd could respond to what had just happened, Mckinley raised her M9 and fired a single shot at his hand: the hand that held his pistol.

Of course, all of this took place in seconds, so it was hard to tell at first if Mckinley had succeeded what she'd intended. She wanted her bullet to send his pistol flying away so he'd be unarmed. He'd be unable to hurt her or Ghost.

Lucky for her, it worked.

Her bullet dug deep into his fingers and sent the pistol hurtling backwards into the grass. Blood spurted in all directions, showering Shepherd's sleeve and shirt with red. He roared in pain and gripped his other hand around the injured one, applying pressure to stop the blood.

Mckinley took a deep breath, full of relief. She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Ghost's eyes were still wide with shock. Behind his mask—she suspected—his jaw had dropped, as well. He'd just witnessed two things: a betrayal and a comeback.

What would happen next? She wasn't too sure. Her plan had only gotten so far…

"You… you tried to kill her…" Ghost spoke in his throaty British accent, directing his accusation to the man clutching his bleeding hand. "You pulled out your gun an' tried to kill her…"

Mckinley was too distracted by Ghost's words to hear Shepherd stumbling over to them and plucking her M9 from her. Obviously too lazy to retrieve his own gun, he picked up the nearest weapon. The expression behind his scruffy moustache was a mixture of rage and redemption as he held the pistol in his good hand.

"I'm _going_ to kill her," Shepherd hissed. "And I'm _going_ to have that DSM."

"You betrayed your own country!" Mckinley shouted in response. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she finally got everything she'd ever wanted to say to him out of her system. "_You little sonofabitch_! You fucking _JERK!_ You joined up with Makarov! You wanted popularity! You wanted to go down in history as the greatest general alive!" She spat on the ground before his feet. "But you're nothing but a whore! A little prick hiding behind a blank check!" She met his ugly cold gaze with her livid grey one. "You're no hero! You're just a bastard with an Army cot and an emblem on your shoulder!"

Shepherd swiftly brought the pistol's barrel to her forehead.

"History is written by the victor," he said simply. "_I _am the victor." His finger quivered against the pistol's trigger. "And I win."

"NO!" Ghost bellowed, trying to stand from underneath Mckinley's fallen body. "Don't you _DARE_ hurt her! I'll _fucking_ _**KILL YOU**_!" She saw his hands scramble for a hold on the dirt, but he was weak. He couldn't move. Mckinley gulped. Was Shepherd evil enough to—

Shepherd instantly shoved the barrel in Ghost's face.

_Yeah. He is._

"I said '_I_ am the victor," Lieutenant Riley," he murmured. "I never said I would leave her unharmed." A wicked smile perched on his cracked lips. "I can't let you two know what's on that DSM. The information would make your heads explode. I intend to dispose of both of you." He tilted his head towards Ghost. "But if you would like to go first…"

"Take me," Ghost insisted suddenly. His blue eyes became enveloped in a mass of agony. "But don't touch her." He hung his head. "Take me."

Mckinley, knowing what would happen, decided it be best to go along with it. Her tears grew in quantity, and she choked on every sob that trickled down the back of her throat. Her body shook with fury and fright. Was it possible that they would lose? Would Shepherd pull the trigger?

"I can't guarantee that," Shepherd purred. His finger danced on the trigger, just waiting for the right moment to—

"NO!" Mckinley sobbed. She'd had enough. If her plan was working, it would've happened already, and it hadn't. What was he waiting for? Christmas? She couldn't stand the waiting much longer. Ghost, the ghost that had haunted her from the very beginning, was about to die.

_I tried._

_I tried._

_I TRIED._

Shepherd chuckled like a fat sultan upon a golden throne, ready to receive the word that his greatest enemy had been defeated. His smile was that of the same sultan: content, greedy, hungry. His eyes sparked with the fire of the palace torches, excited for the end to be so near.

Mckinley now knew what evil looked like.

And he pulled the trigger.

* * *

**DUNN DUNN DUNN**

(Dunn didn't survive, so I had to do that for him.)


	32. Revenge

Sorry to keep you guys in suspense. This is a short chapter, but it should tell you if Ghost is dead or not... if you read the entire thing. ENTIRE. I mean it.

If this chapter is a bit religious, I'm sorry. I'm experimenting with Ghost's beliefs a bit, here. I see him as the type of guy who would've lost faith in God WAY long ago, maybe when being tortured by Roba. Since his family DID celebrate Christmas, I assume he GREW UP Catholic... but you never know. That's just how I saw it. :D And yes, I'm Catholic, so I displayed the general belief of Catholicism in what Ghost talks about, like purgatory.

Please, if you object to something I just said above, or something Ghost talks about, message me in a PM, not in a review. I don't want any religious battles, please. Thanks. XD

**Question of the Chapter:** In the sequel I'm going to write (yes, I AM), what would YOU like to happen in it? What key events would you like to see? I have a general idea of what I'm planning, but you can help me, if you want. ^_^

Read, enjoy, and review!

**_-ecto1B_**

**_Please read the bolded note at the bottom of this chapter. Thanks!_**

* * *

**Chapter 32:**

Revenge

**Lt. Simon James 'Ghost' Riley**

_It was death._

_Death was finally to take my soul._

_Roba had accomplished his mission._

_In Shepherd's cold eyes, I'd seen the sparkling brown orbs of Roba cackling at me, gloating and toasting for my eradication. I'd seen him standing at the foot of the devil's table, raising his glass along with the others whom I'd despised and feared since I was taken hostage. The devil himself sat to Roba's right, giggling with mirth and repeatedly checking his watch, anxious for my arrival at their table. Along with them sat some of the world's most evil people, all waiting for me. It was inevitable; I would soon sit at the devil's table in the bowels of hell, for I was truly demonic. No God could accept me into the gates of heaven after what I'd done throughout my life. Not even purgatory could hold all the sins on my shoulders. I was done. Over. Dead._

_The only positive thing I could think of at the time was Queen. Queen, the woman whose limp, slender body had managed to push me out of the way, just before Shepherd fired a deadly shot into her abdomen. Queen, the woman who'd fought for me, who'd screamed and begged for my life to be spared. Queen, who I'd made love to in the base's laundromat. Queen, who was probably the only person able to save me from my destiny in hell, whose angelic body and mind could purify my soul and enable me to see a glimpse of heaven._

_She would go to heaven, I knew. She hadn't committed any crimes like I have. She never was accused of murdering her family. She didn't go mad with anger after being tortured for six months._

_I loved that woman with every fiber of my being. And I would've gladly let ever fiber of my being be destroyed if it would save her._

_It looked as if I was about to do just that._

* * *

_Pfc. Mckinley Shane 'Queen' Front_

**I remember that old commercial that played on TV right before Modern Warfare 2 came out. It was incredible. All my guy friends at school were discussing it during every free second they had. The graphics, the look of the gameplay, what they'd heard from other friends… It seemed to me that they hadn't cared about the words being spoken during the commercial. Unlike them, I took to memorizing the lines, for they haunted me immensely.**

_"Revenge is like a ghost. It takes over every man it touches. Its thirst cannot be quenched until the last man standing has fallen. The world's men of action will look and wonder… how it came to this. You may be able to destroy me, but the beast will eventually come for you."_

**Eventually, after purchasing the game, I found out that those were Makarov's words. The bloody, vulgar, Ultranationalist scum that murdered thousands to create chaos between Russia and America. Just to seek his _revenge_ on the men who murdered his precious Zakhaev,**

**Those words would've been much more genuine coming from General Shepherd's mouth, I think. He was the betrayer, the traitor, the turncoat. He brought the gun to Ghost's head and pulled the trigger. He believed my gun still had ammo in it, the stupid sonofabitch. Would he realize the gun was empty, contact his men, and have us executed? I knew he could easily have that done… but could Ghost and I react fast enough to evade another close encounter with death?**

**Only fate could decide if revenge was _really_ like a Ghost.**

* * *

**DUNN DUNN DUNN!**

(Poor Dunn is recovering from him being KO'd after reading the last chapter. He'll be back soon!)

**Suggested COD Reads:**

_To Lead a Flock To Slaughter_ by Emily 'Gadget' Robins

_The Red Dragon Redux_ by Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena

_Our General Theory of Total World Domination_ by AstroRen's UberNova **(and me!)**

_Haunting a Ghost_ by GHOST oo007

_Codename: Charlie _by SoapyVnecks

_Fire_ by Carovinee

_The Cottage_ by VerityA

_Just Call Me Daddy_ by AwesomeBlonde89

_Loose Ends_ by Dunedain789

_Deal with the Devil_ by dryskim

_A fine Line_ by Erin Peepsta

**All of the above stories are SUPER-DE-DUPER incredible. Each of these authors deserve your attention MUCH MORE than I do. Compared to them, I'm a horrible author. So please, go check them out and give them a pleasant review. 'Cause they all deserve it. They are fantastic. Most of them actually review this story, which is SURREAL for me. They're THAT amazing. **

**Thank you. Everyone who actually thinks my story isn't half bad, and reviews. Thank you. I really appreciate all your kind words of support. It keeps me going. XD**

**Love you all! PLEASE do read those stories I mentioned above! You won't regret it!**

**-ecto1B (and Dunn, of course)**


	33. Disbelief

**Chapter 33**

**"Disbelief"**

**Day 7 – 16:59:23**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

_There's gotta be some sort of mistake…_

Mckinley blinked her eyes once. Then twice. Then three times. She pinched her forearm lightly, and nothing happened. She pinched it harder, and still, nothing happened. Groaning, Mckinley rested her arm across her eyes to bring back total darkness as she reconsidered what she'd just seen. Truthfully, her brain could focus much better if her eyes were closed and everything was dark.

_Am I dead? For real this time?_

What she'd seen moments ago had been scary. No, _horrifying._ Much more horrifying than having to defend the DSM from sweaty Russian men, but not as bad as approaching Shepherd: the man supposedly destined to kill her and Ghost.

Was it even real?

To double-check before she really began to freak out, Mckinley opened one eye and glanced about her surroundings for any piece of evidence that she was hallucinating.

But before she could really take anything in, she shut both eyes even tighter than before.

She wasn't imagining things.

She was inside Makarov's estate.

Turning off every one of her five senses, Mckinley tried to remain calm as her brain used the information it had acquired from her brief glances to evaluate the current situation. She knew that if she took everything slowly and patiently, her mind wouldn't rip everything out of proportions before she got the complete story. Like she'd done when she'd first wound up inside Modern Warfare 2: analyze everything and don't freak out.

The room was one of the bedrooms of the estate.

She was lying down on something soft.

The air smelled of blood, antibiotics, and fresh bandages.

The areas from her chest down ached and stung madly, probably from freshly opened cuts and wounds.

There was a bit of shuffling downstairs, followed by the occasional muffled conversation and squeak of boots on the wood floor.

What was she doing there? How many days had she been knocked out? Had the Russians taken her captive? If so, where was the rest of Task Force 141?

Cautiously, Mckinley relaxed the muscles in her body and opened her eyes just enough for streams of light to slide through. From where she lay, she could see that the ceiling was scarred with old cigarette ashes and smoke, probably from when the Russians were using most of the rooms as sleeping quarters. She rotated her head to the right slightly and saw a heap of medical equipment sitting in the nearest corner, stacked in a lazy disarray. Next to the equipment, another door was hanging wide, revealing a full bathroom. The other side of the room was completely bare, except for a small pile of dirty, bloody towels collected near the door.

To her surprise, it didn't seem like anyone was keeping watch on her to make sure she didn't try to escape. She rolled her wrists and ankles around and didn't detect any ropes or anything. Was she really being held hostage? Or was there something else behind all of this?

Mckinley shivered, but then winced at the pain that came with movement. Now that her senses came back, she could feel the pain steadily growing in every fiber of her body. What was to happen to her? Something wasn't right with what she was seeing. _After Shepherd had pulled the trigger_… Mckinley racked her brain for any recall of the events, but nothing came up, as if she'd lost consciousness the second he'd tried to kill Ghost. But how could that be possible? The world wasn't _that_ messed up… was it?

She bit her lower lip and was instantly surprised when the repulsive taste of her own blood slipped into her mouth. Confused, Mckinley feebly lifted her right hand to her mouth and wiped at the freshly extracted redness brimming on her lip. Why had one small nibble at her lip drawn so much blood?

Why were so many things confusing her?

Why was she acting so stupid?

She let her index finger explore the skin along her lip line, feeling for pockmarks and cuts. More blood seeped from the chapped skin where she'd bitten, but the trickle was beginning to slow. Her finger dragged to her cheekbones, then around to her eyes, to the tip of her nose, and then to her forehead. Nothing else was out of order.

Another sigh. _This is stupid. I'm so disoriented; I can't even seem to figure out why I'm so flipping weak!_

Her random thoughts ceased when something abnormal broke into the mix of things. Mckinley heard the door to her room slowly creak open, and a pair of muddy combat boots stumbled into the room seconds later. Her breath hitched in her throat, fearing the worst, and she pressed her lips together into a thin line to smother any noises of fear that tried to escape. The blood flow from her chapped lips halted.

"Queen? You awake, lass?"

Mckinley gasped.

"'Tavish?" Her voice croaked horridly, though the Scot seemed to disregard how awful she sounded. "What're you… what're _we_ doing here? In Makarov's estate?" She attempted to sit up, but MacTavish leaned down and grabbed her shoulder, gently pushing her back down on the sleeping bag she was laying on.

"Don't sit up, love. You're still too injured to move."

Mckinley glanced up at him. MacTavish looked nothing like he usually did. His face was caked with cuts, bruises, scars, and dried blood. His left eye was almost invisible behind a wall of blue and black skin that reached from the crest of his cheekbone all the way up to the underside of his eyebrow. Mckinley brought her eyes downward some, and saw the extensive amount of bandages and wrappings swathing his chest. Faint traces of blood peaked from the pure white cloth, and remnants of dark bloodstains and dirt tipped the hems of his clothes. She gasped again.

_That must be where Shepherd stabbed him._

"You wanna know why we're here?" he chuckled, not noticing her eyes continuing to stray back to his maimed chest. "It's a long story." He seemed to be having trouble blinking the eye that was doused in blue skin, for his attempts were erratic and spastic. Mckinley frowned at his pain.

"At least tell me how your mission with Price went," she requested, almost pleadingly. "How did _you_ end up here?" Mckinley pretended to finally recognize his mutilated chest injury. "And _how in the hell_ are you still alive from that?" Of course, she already knew all of that information, but acting like she had no clue was her best bet for the moment. She lay down like he'd asked, but kept her eyes wide and locked on the captain, anxious for a stimulating explanation to fulfill her curiosity.

MacTavish smirked and sat down on the floor next to her. He crossed his legs, rested his elbows on his knees, and contemplated on a good place to begin to his tale.

"I might as well start from the very beginning," he said finally.

~O~

**SHORTLY BEFORE... (DOWNSTAIRS IN MAKAROV'S SAFEHOUSE)**

**Day 7 – 16:58:31**

**Lt. Simon 'Ghost' Riley**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

As he walked through the foyer, heading for the front door, Ghost was startled to notice a mirror hanging on the wall. He passed it, and was suddenly overcome with shame, seeing his upsetting reflection. He was still hiding behind that ghastly balaclava. Even after dancing on the brink of death and barely escaping with his life, he was still a coward. He could not show his face to anyone.

Glancing to make sure no one was watching, Ghost took a step closer to the mirror, removed his sunglasses, and then slipped the skull-adorned balaclava away from his features. His heart began to ache. It was as if he had just peeled the skin and muscle from his bones, revealing the empty, godforsaken core that seemed to play no part in his survival. His face was pitted with similarities to his father's face (the curve of his cheekbones, his firm chin, his long nose), but his eyes belonged to his mother. For a moment, he wondered what his mother would say if she saw his face now. Would she recognize the hollow frame of her son?

He heard footsteps. Quickly, Ghost returned his face to its usual appearance and turned away from the mirror. Mentally, he swore he'd never look into a mirror again without his mask on.

"You alright, mate?" MacTavish's voice intruded on the oath Ghost was silently taking. Ghost blinked his eyes and exhaled, facing his captain, who was now also standing in the foyer of the estate.

"I'm fine, 'Tavish," he lied. "Jus' thinking." Ghost winced as his gaze unintentionally swept over the Scot's mangled physique, becoming very much aware of how much more painful MacTavish's mission must have been compared to his.

MacTavish nodded. "Well, I'm just lettin' you know that I'm headin' upstairs to check on Queenie. If she's awake, do you want me to tell you?"

The blood pulsing steadily through his bloodstream became scorching hot at the mention of the woman who'd singlehandedly saved his life. He had been stopping by her room each day since they'd found shelter in Makarov's safehouse, hoping she would awaken.

"Yes, sir," Ghost replied. "I'd appreciate it." He lowered his chin solemnly. "'Tavish… you're completely sure she's gonna wake up… right?"

The thought that she wouldn't killed him.

MacTavish managed a smirk. He patted Ghost's shoulder. "Of course, Ghost. Both Doc and Chemo checked her over. Her wounds aren't fatal, remember?" His lips tightened together. "Though she has a helluva _lot_ of injuries."

Ghost weakly smiled. "I tried, sir. But you know her. Stubborn as a mule. That woman would _not_ run when I told her to. She was all for hangin' around and cleanin' up the tangos by herself."

Ghost's smile reflected instantly on the captain's scraggly face. "We sure got lucky with the lass, mate. We coulda' had some bloody _trollop _to deal with, instead of our red-haired angel."

"Too right, mate." Ghost massaged the back of his neck and glanced at the front door. "'Tavish, I'm gonna be out in the front on the deck if you need me. I need…" he hesitated briefly before continuing, "I need a bit of alone time. Some time to collect my bearings."

"All right." MacTavish started for the staircase. "I'll call you if she wakes up. Oh, and _Ghost_." He locked his gaze on Ghost's sunglasses because he was unable to see the man's eyes. "_Do _realize that I'm here for ya', mate. You can tell me anythin', and I promise I'll listen. You understand?"

Ghost sighed, trusting MacTavish's words, but not being able to fully trust the man any longer. He could put his faith in no one.

"I understand, 'Tavish," he said half-heartedly, leaving the man's solid gaze and casting his eyes downward. "_Completely_."

"Good."


	34. Never

You didn't have to wait longer than you did for the last chapter, now did you?

Thing's have been pretty good lately! A TON of snow days, which means more time for me to write XD

Oh, **Please go check out a story that I've started with the amazing _Arhani 'Hanny' Daforcena_ called "Redheads of the 141." It's about Queen, my OC, and her OC, Ryuka. Please read it and review :]**

**QUESTION OF THE CHAPTER: **Did you know that the guy who does Foley's voice in Modern Warfare 2 is the voice of the Shadowman (the main bad guy) in "_The Princess and the Frog_?" (He sings a song called "Friends on the Other Side" that I have on my iPod, and I always picture Foley singing it...) And the voice of General Shepherd is also Kerchak from that old Disney movie, _Tarzan_? Oh, and Shepherd's voice is also on that Verizon DROID commercial... :D

**Read, enjoy, and review!**

**_-ecto1B_**

* * *

Chapter 34:

**"Never"**

**Day 7 – 17:13:07**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

"So that's basically what happened," MacTavish finished. "He started beatin' Price up, leaving me for dead, so I pulled the knife outta my chest and threw it into his bloody eye, killing the sick bastard." Mckinley saw him visibly shudder at the thought. "Then Nikolai showed up and flew our asses here to the estate where Ghost and the rest of the team waited. Apparently Ghost had contacted him earlier about meetin' here once we'd finished in Afghanistan."

Mckinley gulped. "Did… did Ghost happen to tell you what happened after Shepherd tried to kill us?" She wanted to know. Desperately. Why had she blacked out? What had she missed? And how in the _hell_ had they survived?

He nodded solemnly. "Aye, he did." Pausing, he cleared his throat, and then went on. "He said Shepherd took your pistol and attempted to shoot him with it, but it was empty. Ghost said you passed out seconds after Shepherd realized the gun had no bullets, from shock or somethin'. Shepherd apparently turned and hurried back onto his heli like a startled cat. He ordered some of his men to eliminate you and Ghost and then retrieve the DSM you were carrying, but Ghost contacted Archer and Toad and got them to fire the Javelin on the field where you were."

Shocked, Mckinley's jaw dropped in response. "So… how did Ghost and I get out?"

"As his men started towards you, Ghost scooped you up in his arms and ran back towards the house. Archer and Toad provided you with sniper support, and Ghost managed to get the two of you outta harm's way before Archer's Javelin hit its target. He carried your nearly lifeless body back here through waves of fire from the Russians, but Archer got another Javelin in the air to clear some of them outta your way."

"Had Ghost hoped the first Javelin would've hit Shepherd's heli?"

At this question, MacTavish itched his stubble-covered chin with his thumb.

"I… I don't know, lass. Maybe. I didn't think of asking him… _really_, I didn't even think of that. He could've. But…" he motioned to his heavily damaged chest, "obviously, it didn't work out. Shepherd got to Hotel Bravo just fine…" He smiled contently. "And _without_ the DSM, might I add?"

Mckinley smirked, and MacTavish leaned over and mussed up her hair.

"You did good, Queenie. Real good. I'm very proud of you. There are many men who are indebted to you, and who would be dead had it not been for your quick thinking." Though he was still smiling, MacTavish's lips pressed together. "Ghost, for one, can't get over the fact that you reacted so quickly when Shepherd pulled a gun on you. He said it was as if you already knew what was gonna happen."

Mckinley concealed a nervous gulp from her captain.

_That's the thing. I __**had**__ already known he'd try to kill us._

Just then, there was a knock on the door.

"Probably Ghost, comin' to check on ya," MacTavish murmured. He stood from the ground, wincing only slightly at the pain he received when he did so, and went over to open the door.

Instead of Ghost's skull-adorned balaclava poking through the door, Captain Price entered. He, like MacTavish, had been graced with a horrible black eye, but his face was cut, bruised, bloodied, and scared much more than MacTavish's was. Parts of his beard had been shaven away to get at the wounds dotting his skin. His body, on the other hand, wasn't as maimed as his face. Only a few pieces of gauze embellished his arms and torso, and they weren't very bloody.

"Hey, Price," Mckinley said softly, disguising her disappointment as fatigue (she'd hoped it'd be Ghost coming to see her).

Price stepped inside and went to kneel next to her, just as MacTavish had done earlier. He smiled a grandfatherly smile her way, and then glanced at the other captain, who was still standing by the door.

"You go downstairs and get clean wrappings, Soap. Doc says you're overdue. I wanna speak with Queen for a moment." There was a solemn undertone to Price's British accent that sent a shiver down Mckinley's spine. Somehow, she knew _exactly_ what he was going to talk about. Was she ready for that talk? No way.

MacTavish nodded. "Fine." He dipped his head to Mckinley. "Get better, lass. I'll tell the rest of the team you're awake so they can come visit."

Once he'd slipped out and shut the door, Price returned his gaze to the injured woman lying on the ground.

She gulped again. His blue eyes were sad.

"So that's how the game ends, eh?" he asked her feebly. "Shepherd kills you, Ghost, and the rest of the team, and then makes us wanted criminals before Soap kills?"

Mckinley hardly had the strength or the will to do anything but nod obediently in response.

A sigh escaped Price's lips. "Not a very good ending."

"Price… I-I wanted to tell you…" she began shakily, sitting up and wrapping her arms around her knees protectively. Pain stung her stomach and back, but she didn't care. "I just… couldn't. I didn't know how exactly to tell you… it was too hard—"

"I'm not blaming you, lass," he said quickly, putting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm just noting that some of that… _never _happened at all. Well, it came close, but somehow, you changed the more negative ones." Price kept his hand on his shoulder and looked her straight in the eye. "Like saving Ghost's life. _Twice_."

"Technically, once, actually," Mckinley corrected him. "Because the first time Shepherd was aiming for me—"

"_Twice_, love. The first time, Shepherd intended on shooting you both, getting the DSM, and hightailing it outta there. The second, he put a gun to Ghost's head, and the gun was empty, which was your doing." Price held up two fingers. "_Twice_."

"All right, fine. _Twice_. But Ghost would've done the same for me." She frowned. "I was not about to watch that man die. I had no choice; I had to change what was supposed to happen."

"You had all of it planned?" He sounded a bit surprised. "I thought it was all by chance that—"

"All planned," she interjected before he could continue. "I timed it just right. I made sure I had only one bullet left in my M9, and when Shepherd went to shoot me, I dodged it and used the bullet on his hand. He thought my gun still had bullets in it—he was too involved in the moment to check—and he tried killing Ghost with it." She hesitated momentarily. "And then I just _had_ to black out and miss all the action…"

Price chuckled. "What is it with you youngsters, always hungry for conflict?"

She shrugged. "Hey, I can think what I wish. Then maybe I wouldn't have been so fricken' _scared_ when I woke up in _Makarov's safehouse_."

Both of their spirits were high until Price grew solemn.

"So when are you plannin' on telling everyone the truth?" he wondered.

Mckinley gave him a confused look. "Th-The truth? About what?"

He raised an eyebrow. "About you being the seventeen year old Mckinley, not the twenty-three year old one. You _were _plannin' on telling them… right? 'Cause who knows how long it'll be until you go back to your time."

Mckinley felt her lungs constricting and her heart ebbing away when Price brought her back to reality. He was right; she wasn't going to be hanging around much longer. The game was past its finish. She could be transported home at any second of the day.

"Never…" she murmured forlornly. "I… I never wanna go back, Price… I… I've found my home here… my _family_ here… and I don't wanna leave."

"But when you go back, you'll get to live it all over again," he explained. "You go back, graduate from high school, enlist in the Army Rangers… and soon enough, you'll be joining Task Force 141." He patted the top of her hand. "It's not like you'll never see us again."

"You'll be in the gulag," she said, feeling a wave of tears making their way to the corners of her eyes. "I'll be the FNG. No one will like me. I'll be a stranger; a bothersome soldier."

"It'll take some time for them to warm up to you, love. How did you think they got so friendly with you now? They got to know you, got to hear your stories and got to experience things alongside you. You'll meet members of the team that were dead long before you were transported here, and you'll watch some pass on, and new men join the team." A grin crept onto his lips. "You'll get to know Ghost more, and fall in love with him again." Mckinley blushed. "And you'll prove to Soap that being a woman doesn't matter. You've got the courage of a thousand soldiers within you. Gender plays no part." Her eyes began to water—not in sadness, but in response to how incredibly powerful his words were—and he put a comforting arm around her shoulder. "Mckinley Front… in all the years I've been involved in the military, not once did I meet someone as brave as you, and you're only seventeen, _and_ you're a woman. Don't become so sure that you don't know what the future entails." His breathing became ragged, almost. "Love, you are _going_ to have to tell them." She flinched. "After that, you can return home with a clean slate, ready to relive it all. _And you can do it_."

Mckinley, overwhelmed with emotion, found herself burying her head in his shoulder. The levy she'd constructed to keep out the tears broke, and she cried. Price let her. He pulled her close and let her cry, comforting her like a grandfather consoling a weeping granddaughter. She appreciated that.

"I'm gonna miss you, Price," she admitted through sobs. "A whole lot."

"Don't miss me. I'll be that crazy old man in the gulag, remember?" She laughed shakily and sat back again, meeting his gaze.

"Thank you," she sniffed.

"No problem, lass." There was a twinkle in his eye that reminded her of how she'd always pictured Santa Claus's eyes would twinkle. "I'm glad I could help."

Mckinley's eyes darted across the room at the adjoining bathroom. She'd just gotten a whiff of herself, and noticed that she definitely did not smell like flowers. Perhaps a shower would help? "Um… Price? Do you think it'd be okay with Doc and Chemo if I took a shower to clean my wounds?" Her voice continued to tremble, but the tears slowed. "I'm kinda craving it, actually."

"Hmm… I think it'd be fine." Price stood from the ground and offered her his hand. She grimaced when she took his hand and let her spine straighten again, but—probably because of painkillers—the throbbing evaporated after a short while. "But surely you can't do it all by yourself. Why don't you go wait in the bathroom, and I'll send someone to come help you remove your bandages and things?"

She gave him a look and wiped her eyes. "Ghost?"

"Of course." He smirked.

"Okay." Mckinley gave him one last hug before he helped her into the bathroom. He sat her down on the closed toilet seat and stepped back.

"You tell them on your own time, lass, but _do _keep in mind that you don't got all year to do so."

Mckinley nodded. "I know."

Giving her one last dip of his head, Price exited the room, leaving Mckinley to her jumble of thoughts pertaining to the future, the past, how the other soldiers were doing, and how embarrassed she would be when Ghost came to help her take a shower.

* * *

**Foley:** (singing) "~Don't you disrespect me, little man! Don't you derogate or deride!~"

**Dunn:** (cowering in corner with **ecto1B**): What's he doing?

**ecto1B:** I think he's quoting that song he sings... "Friends On The Other Side." O_o

**Dunn:** Whatever. Oh, I almost forgot to thank **swordsman100** for getting **ecto1B **to stop hurting me! Thanks, bro! 'preciate it! ^.^

**ecto1B: **Well, he might've gotten me to stop 'hurting' you, but you still have to do the **DUNN DUNN DUNN** when I ask.

**Dunn**: Fine. Then I have to go buy some earplugs for Ramirez and I. Foley's gonna sing ALL NIGHT LONG. O_O

**DUNN DUNN DUNN**


	35. Clean

Aren't I just fantastic? Two chapters in two days! (It's because we've had snow days all week and I got bored)

So, I can recall someone telling me that chapter 30, right before Loose Ends, was their favorite Ghost/Queen chapter. That's about to change. This will be your favorite chapter.

**Question of the Chapter:** Do YOU think Queen will go back to her time? Or will she stay in the game?

Enjoy this chapter! Read and review!

_**-ecto1B**_

* * *

Chapter 35:

**"Clean"**

**Day 7 – 17:36:12**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

A knock came at the bathroom door. Mckinley felt her entire face flush red. _Ghost. _Quickly, she glanced in the nearby mirror and did her best to wipe away the smudges of dirt and grime hiding under her eyes and around the curves of her nose. Her hair… well, she didn't want to even _deal_ with that beehive right now. Without much success, she made an effort to remove the visible locks of muck from her usually radiant red hair…

The knock came again. "Queen, love? You all right?"

"Er…" She made one last attempt at taming the mess of red atop her head, but it was to no avail. "Come in, Ghost."

Slowly, the door swung open, and before Mckinley had a chance to scan her eyes across him, absorbing every detail, his muscular form dashed forward and pulled her into a passionate but gentle embrace.

"Oh _love_… I thought I'd lost you…" he choked out, letting his fingers find their hold on her back and in her hair. "You… you don' know how bloody _worried_ I was that you wasn't gonna wake up…" He kneeled on the ground in front of her so that the two were eye-level, and instantly Ghost pressed his mask-clad mouth to her cheek. She could still feel his icy breath sliding on her skin, though the mask kept those wonderful pale lips from actually touching her. "Don' you _ever_ do something like that t' me _again_, d'ya hear?" For a brief moment, it sounded like he was scolding her, but then again, the desperation entwined beneath his British accent proved it was purely for good reasons. He loved her, and her bizarre actions had only driven him mad with panic.

"Ghost, calm down," she mumbled soothingly, kissing the mouth of the skull on his mask. "I'm right here… you didn't lose me."

"I guess I jus' got carried away… the thought of losing you scared me," he confessed, nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck. Again, Mckinley related the action to a young boy—frightened by something scary—hurrying to his caring mother for some much-needed comfort. Though she found it beyond adorable, she wondered for a moment if Ghost's actions mirrored how he acted with his mother when he was younger. Mckinley knew for a fact Ghost's father had been a terrible parent, and had done drugs, smoked, drank, and raped women for fun, attending rock concerts and cursing like mad around little Simon and his younger brother, Tommy. She wondered if he'd found refuge in his mother's arms, and was now finding the same consolation with her.

Suddenly, Ghost shifted in Mckinley's arms, interrupting her deep thoughts. He pulled away from her hug slightly to meet her gaze with his strangely uncovered blue eyes.

"So, I heard from Price that you needed my help with something?" His grip around her continued to remain protectively strong. "What was it?"

She blushed again and coughed. _How the hell do I ask someone to help me take a shower? _"Um… well… if you hadn't noticed…" Mckinley glanced down at herself, "I smell like shit right now…"

His eyebrows raised. "No, you don't."

"Uh, _yeah_, I do, sweetheart. Like grime and shit."

She heard him sniff a bit. "Smells like a battlefield to me."

When she gave him a pained look, he chuckled. "Don't worry, love. It's sexy."

"Sexy?"

Ghost shrugged. "Well, _yeah_. A hot girl that smells like she's just stuffed bullets up peoples' arses is sexy to me."

"You're kidding."

"No, I'm bein' serious, love. I find you rather sexy right now." When she motioned to all the scars on her face and the bloody bandages dotting her body, he shrugged again. "Those just give you a sharper look."

Mckinley stared at him in disbelief. "I seriously _can't_ take you seriously right now, Mr. Simon James Riley. You're making me blush."

Ghost practically threw back his head and laughed. "You don' believe me?" When she nodded and crossed her arms across her chest, firing him a look of disbelief, Ghost ripped off his mask, tossed it lethargically over his shoulder, and crashed his lips against hers hungrily. Mckinley tried to shout in shock and—at first—protest, but at once fell victim to his taste: cigarettes, cologne, and mint toothpaste. She ignored the screams of shooting pain in parts of her body and let herself become completely entangled against him. Her hands clutched his now-exposed mess of blonde hair in furious desperation.

"Now do you believe me?" he asked her as the two parted to take a breather. She nodded vigorously. "Good…" With an almost feral growl, Ghost attacked her lips once more.

More kissing ensued, until Mckinley's torso built up so much discomfort that she had to pull away and cry out in pain. In his unquenchable thirst, he'd put an enormous amount of pressure on her ribcage that she couldn't stand.

"What's wrong?" Ghost asked her urgently once she'd wrenched from his grasp to clutch at her abdomen. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah… I'm fine…" She bit back another yelp as the pain surged again. "It's… just all the wounds…"

Ghost's eyes were clouded with realization. "You were plannin' on asking me to help you take a shower, weren't you? That's where the smell thing came in, and that's why we're sittin' in the loo." He glanced around the bathroom, and then looked back at her. "I'm right, aren't I?"

The pain had slowly begun to die down again, so Mckinley could remove her arms from her stomach. She did so, only once wincing, and then gave Ghost a bemused look.

"How the heck did you figure that out?"

"For a ghost, I'm pretty damn smart." He smiled. "So that's it, then? You need me to help clean your wounds an' stuff?"

"With no funny business… yes."

"Funny business? Of course not, ma'am," he said seriously, saluting her and rising from his kneeled position. He offered a hand to her, and she took it. "I'd be honored to help you, love." Ghost placed a delicate kiss atop her knuckles, and then went over to the shower. He turned the knob to a fairly warm temperature to start them off, and then went over to the cabinets below the sink to find a towel.

"Damn, Doc must've used all the clean towels when he was cleanin' up blood. I'll have to find one downstairs—"

Mckinley pointed to a small closet door inside the bathroom. "Try there," she suggested.

Once Ghost had found a towel and checked the water to see if it was actually warming up, he made sure there was shampoo, conditioner, and a bar of soap for their use waiting inside the shower. Then he went back over to Mckinley and helped her stand.

"Time to get in the shower, love," he said calmly. "There's gonna be a lot of bandages, so we better start takin' 'em off now, before the water's ready."

Reluctant at first to let Ghost remove her clothes, Mckinley finally gave in and let him assist her as each part of her clothes fell to the ground. Once her top coverings were off, she was sad to realize that it hadn't made much of a difference; most of her body was still concealed behind bloody bandages.

After a few minutes of aches, shooting pains, and winces, the two had successfully removed all of Mckinley's bandages.

Ghost checked the water temperature. He put his hand under the nozzle, and then placed his wet hand on her bare shoulder to see if it was too hot. Once she'd confirmed that it was 'just perfect,' he helped her into the shower itself.

"Hang on a second, love."

Mckinley, who was savoring the delightful feeling of water on her skin, glanced his way briefly to see what he meant and saw something that both thrilled her and startled her.

Ghost already had his shirt on the floor, and was in the process of unbuckling his belt.

"_Ghost_?"

He glanced up at her. His fingers fumbled with the belt as he did so. "What?"

"Um…" She watched in detached interest as his pants came off, and then so did his boxers. Ghost—completely nude and not seeming to care—stepped into the shower with her and reached for the shampoo. "Ghost… not that I'm unhappy to see you naked, because I'm not… but, erm… might I ask just _what_ are you doing?"

He chuckled and wrapped his arms around her—gently, this time. "What did you think I was gonna do? Stand outside the shower and help there?" His lips landed on her collarbone. "No, I'd prefer to be in here to help my Queen clean herself."

Mckinley tried to hide a giggle. "I thought I said no funny business, Simon?"

"What? Kissing you isn't anything funny." His lips traveled up to the nape of her neck, and then he gave her left earlobe an affectionate lick before squeezing a quarter-sized amount of shampoo into his hand. He ran the shampoo deep into her hair, massaging it into her scalp and plucking out bits of dirt that appeared.

"Oh, I just thought I'd let you know," he said, leaning in so she could hear him over the rush of the water, "You're gonna let me brush this hair when we're done in here."

Giggling, Mckinley nodded. "Fine."

Minutes passed. Ghost finished washing Mckinley's hair—shampoo and conditioner—and then went on to clean her body with the bar of soap. Every so often, Mckinley would wince when one of her injuries stung, and Ghost would move his hands away and wait until she nodded before he continued. The injury that caused them the most trouble was the bloody gash in her side from the shrapnel. Ghost told her that Chemo and Doc had struggled to remove the mortar fragment from her side when she'd arrived. It was the largest laceration on her body, running vertically down the side of her abdomen. Luckily the bleeding had stopped, but the discomfort that came with water coming in contact with it was hard for her to bear.

Eventually, Ghost declared that she was as clean as she was going to get. He turned the water off and helped her out of the shower. While he went to retrieve a towel for himself, Mckinley snatched her towel from the bathroom sink and quickly swathed her dripping body in it.

"Though mildly painful, I enjoyed that," she said to him, grinning slyly. "You should work at a beauty salon and wash people's hair."

He frowned. "I only like your hair, though."

She laughed and turned to face the bathroom mirror. "Well… at least I look and smell better than I did _before_ the shower. Thanks, Ghostie." He came up behind her and kissed the top of her head, putting his hands on her shoulders.

"I'm glad I could help, _Queenie_. And you honestly didn't smell that bad before." His nose rubbed against her temple. "I liked it."

She scoffed in response. "Oh sure. You're _still_ just saying that to make me blush."

Ghost's damp, bare arms enveloped around her from behind, and he buried his face in her red hair. Mckinley reacted with a crestfallen sigh, coming back to reality and realizing that this was probably one of the last moments she'd get to spend with him before she went back to her time.

As if he'd read her mind, Ghost murmured, "Never leave me, Queen. Please. I couldn't _stand_ a single day without seein' your lovely face smilin' at me." His grip tightened. "Please promise me."

For a second, Mckinley thought about making the promise, but her heart howled in protest. _Don't you dare hurt him like that, Mckinley_ it told her. _Don't promise it, but make it because of a good reason. You're going to have to tell him the truth soon enough._

"Ghost, I'm not sure I'm able to make that promise…" When his eyes snapped to her in bewilderment, she forced a smile. "Aren't we wanted criminals or something? We could be captured and killed."

"Not on my watch," he said sternly. "I'm not lettin' any bloody man _touch_ you if he intends on turnin' you in."

"But what if—"

"_No one's_ comin' near you, love." His azure irises grew intense and full of sincerity, locking onto her pale grey ones and not releasing her gaze. "I swear."

It wasn't necessarily an awkward silence that grew between them after Ghost's statement… it was more like Mckinley had no idea how to respond to him. She was flooded with guilt. Guilt that had no desire on leaving any time soon.

"_Love, you are going to have to tell them. After that, you can return home with a clean slate, ready to relive it all. __**And **__**you can do it."**_

Price was right—if she didn't tell them before she left, they would be confused beyond belief. Not only that, but they'd probably hate her, too. She definitely would feel awful if Ghost was unable to stand her because she kept the secret hidden for so long.

_But what else can I say? It's not __**my**__ fault I got whisked inside Modern Warfare 2, and I __**especially**__ didn't know that Modern Warfare 2 was my future!_

"So… um… Ghost?" she began tentatively, deciding to discuss that specific topic later with Price and focus on a different one with Ghost. "If you don't… er… mind me asking… how many men did we lose?"

His lips drew into a thin, dismal line.

"You want a list of names?"

"Just tell me who's here at the estate, if that's easier. I'll check off any names I don't hear."

Inhaling deeply, Ghost shut his eyes and started reciting off the names of the Task Force 141 survivors.

"MacTavish, Price, Nikolai, and I… you, Chemo, Doc, Taco, Archer, Toad, Rocket, and Ozone."

"Wait… so Chemo, Doc, Taco and Rocket were waiting at the temporary camp for us… right?"

Ghost only nodded.

"Archer and Toad were still on the ledge, giving you covering sniper fire and using the Javelin to cover our escape."

Another nod.

"Ozone…" Her memory slowly came back to her. "I thought he was dead… he wasn't answering his radio."

"He was sure as hell close to it," Ghost remarked, slowly begin to rock her back and forth in his arms. "Archer and Toad found him when they were makin' their way to the estate. He wasn't movin' or anythin', but he had a pulse, so they brought him here and started doin' CPR until Doc and Chemo arrived. He's been hangin' by a string since we got him here… I'm not sure how long he'll make it without a hospital and some serious treatment…" Mckinley could hear his voice cracking with every word he spoke. "You already knew that we lost Scarecrow, Spider, Hannibal, Reaper and Boxer… we've been out searching for their bodies so we could bury them, and we've found everyone but Boxer. And we found Bishop's body in the basement yesterday."

Mckinley, still hearing that traumatized tone in his voice, put a hand on his chest. "Ghost, stop, you don't have to tell me this if you don't want to."

"You haven't heard the worst part, love," he murmured. "We lost all the men at Encounter."

She gasped. There had been at least twenty or so men who'd stayed back at Encounter Base… and they were dead? How? Wasn't Encounter Base's location kept a secret?

Then it hit her.

_Shepherd_.

Ghost answered her, even though she'd figured it out herself. "Apparently Shepherd sent some of his Shadow Company to eradicate any remaining members… and then they…" He paused, and she glanced up to see a slight rim of tears brimming in his eyes. "They burned everything to the ground…"

* * *

**DUNN DUNN DUNN**


	36. So Close

Sorry this took me a while. I've just been getting back into the swing of things since our week of snow days xD

While writing this chapter, I listened to these songs:

* * *

_(Theme From) Red Dead Redemption_ by Bill E. and Woody J.

_The Submarine_ by James Newton Howard

_The City of Atlantis_ by James Newton Howard

_Arrival to Earth_ by Steve Jablonsky

_Gloriana_ by Corner Stone Cues

_Ghost Love Score_ by Nightwish (**check this song out, it's AMAZING**)

_Lux Aeterna_ by Clint Mansell

* * *

**Question of the Chapter: **Do you have anything you'd like to ask me? Is there something about this story that you've been curious about, and would like me to answer? Is there something bothering you that you just NEED to get an answer to? Please ask me anything :]

**Thanks to Krystal 'Kitty' Katherine for being my 350th reviewer!**

**DISCLAIMER:** I do not own ANY OF THE LYRICS IN THIS CHAPTER. At all. One belongs to Disney. The other belongs to The Lonely Island. I don't own the songs, the lyrics, the melodies, ANYTHING. Got it?

Read, review, and ENJOY!

**_-ecto1B_**

* * *

Chapter 36:

**"So Close"**

**Day 7 – 19:56:51**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

Encounter Base was gone.

The thought was slightly surreal to her. Negatively surreal, of course.

At first, Mckinley wondered if this was some sort of cosmic joke that Ghost was playing on her. There were so many men left back at the base. MacTavish had not wanted too many soldiers accompanying them. He'd left about half of the team back at Encounter. How could they all be dead? Half of the team? How was that possible?

But Ghost was not kidding. The severity in his voice proved it.

All of those letters from Joseph Allen that future Queen had collected had been burned to ashes alongside her tent and all of her belongings, such as her clothes, her cot, and her bag. Everything—from the mess hall to the barracks to the laundromat—was gone. The basketball courts, the rock-climbing wall, the infirmary… Mckinley fought the urge to wipe her eyes as everything fell into place. Even though she had only been there for a brief time, she knew that her future self would live there for a major portion of her military career. She would wake up there every morning, eat breakfast, train alongside the other men, run the course, and walk through its rows of buildings hundreds of times. She would memorize every corner, every hiding place, and the layout of every building. Her friends would live there, as well. Though they would be mostly isolated from the rest of the world, they would learn countless new things, obtain new ideas, and inspire others from the insides of Encounter Base.

Now, it was all gone. And all of its inhabitants with it.

As she tried to come to grip with reality, she barely noticed as Ghost gently dried her hair with a towel, dressed her in a fresh batch of clothes that they had brought along with them, changed himself into some new clothes, and led her back into the adjoining bedroom where she had first woken up. He sat her back down on the sleeping back lying in the middle of the room and kneeled behind her with a brush he had discovered in the bathroom closet. Steadily, he began to run the brush through her limp red hair like he promised.

"Queenie?" he said finally, after he had made mild progress in taming the red locks trickling down her back. "Are you… are you gonna be okay?"

Mckinley did not answer him. The image of fire sending itself slithering through the base—devouring buildings and spewing out smoke into the sky—was becoming heavily prominent inside her mind. And then her imagination spat out a ghastly picture: fire slinking its way through the inside of the barracks, setting the lifeless forms of the leftover soldiers aflame—

"No…" she managed to choke out, covering her eyes with her hands and leaning forwards a bit. If only shielding her eyes from the mental picture she received could do any good for her. Not even total darkness was soothing at this point. "No, you've gotta be wrong… Encounter Base… it can't be gone…"

Ghost set the brush down and wrapped his arms around her quivering figure. "Love, I bloody wish I was, but I'm not. Nikolai took his Pave Low and flew above the base yesterday. It was still smokin'. And 'Tavish tried contactin' some of the lads that were there, and there was no answer." His lips laid on the inner curve of her neck, and he sighed. "Shepherd meant what he said. He didn't want any loose ends. He didn't want word to get back to America that he'd caused the airport massacre." Mckinley cringed at his words, remembering Joseph Allen and how she would become close friends with him in the future. "He thought he could get away with it, too. He thought he could either wipe us out, or put our names on the most wanted list."

"So MacTavish and Price are wanted criminals." Mckinley paused to gulp, and then continued. "What does that make us? We're wanted, too, I'm assuming." She hoped—for her own sake—that was the case, because if it was not, she had no desire to hear the truth. Mckinley was smart enough to figure out the other option on her own.

It took Ghost a good minute to reply. Obviously he was trying to round everything up in his head to make his answer as harmless as possible. It would be unsuccessful, however, because Mckinley knew if it was not 'WIA,' it was something else…

"Well, besides 'Tavish and Price, all the members of the Task Force have been declared KIA," Ghost told her slowly. "Apparently Shepherd didn't believe you and I survived the Javelin impact. Archer and Toad hid, so none of Shadow Company found them, and Chemo, Doc, Rocket and Taco remained at the temporary base until I contacted them with the news. Shepherd seemed to get a bit sloppy with his report, though, 'cause he never said we died war criminals." The faint trace of a smile perched on Ghost's lips. "We died heroes, _before_ Task Force 141 became 'corrupt,' as he said."

Though a smile—however weak it was—remained on Ghost's handsome face, Mckinley refused to let any bit of happiness engulf her.

She was KIA.

That hit her hard.

Cupping her hands over her mouth and doing her very best to remain calm, Mckinley allowed realization to hit her like a speeding train, and agony to flood her veins like river rapids. Here she was, seventeen years old, declared dead to her country and family. They probably had gotten no clear details as to how she had departed, only the news that she was officially expired from the earth.

There was another part that seemed to bother her to no end.

The majority of Task Force 141 was legally 'dead.'

Besides all of the poor men who had lost their lives so appallingly at Encounter Base, a handful of the Task Force was still alive. Chemo, Rocket, Taco, Ghost, Toad, and Archer were there at the estate. Ozone was hanging precariously by life's thread, according to Ghost. And MacTavish and Price were alive, though they were now wanted men to the U.S. government.

_This entire thing is my future. This macabre mayhem is what I'll have to go through again when I return to my own time. I'll have to solve this thing, one step at a time. _

Just then, Mckinley remembered something.

_Wow. ADD much, Mckinley? _

"Ghost? What happened to the DSM?" She knew her inquiry was random and unrelated to the topic they had been discussing, but she wanted to know. In the video game, Shepherd had shot Roach and Ghost and then taken the DSM from Roach's jacket. But here, as she 'played' the game, Shepherd was too wrapped up in killing them that he had forgotten about the DSM… or had he?

"Oh! Right!" Ghost chuckled. "Thanks to you, Shepherd didn't get it. It's downstairs. Archer and Taco are analyzin' the intel as we speak." Mckinley opened her mouth to respond, but Ghost practically read her mind, "And I know what you're thinkin', love. We were thinkin' the same thing earlier. It _could_ have something in it that could clear everyone's names. That's why we've started going through the files, searchin'." He exhaled and bit his lip. "Nothin' significant has turned up, yet. Nothin' that could help us prove Shepherd was a bloody arsehole."

Mckinley sighed and nodded. "There's bound to be something, though. They can't give up just yet."

"I know, love. They're doing their best. I've had to help them crack a few things, but they're handling everything jus' fine."

Promptly after Ghost finished speaking, a loud knocking came at the door.

"Ghost?"

Planting a chaste kiss at Mckinley's temple, Ghost unhooked his arms from around her shoulders and stood to answer the door.

"What's wrong, Archer?"

The sniper specialist managed to open the door before Ghost could reach it. His green eyes were frantic, thrilled, with a childlike enthusiasm tracing his pale face. Each breath he took was brief, giving the impression that he had raced up the stairs to find Ghost. Was it because there was good news? Or bad?

"Ghost…" Archer's chest heaved, and he slammed a hand atop it to slow the beating of his heart. His Adam's apple bobbed when he gulped. "Ghost… we… we think we found s-somethin'…"

If Ghost were a cat or something, Mckinley would have sworn his ears would have perked straight up at the news. From behind, she could almost see his entire body reawaken with a burst of energy; his shoulders pulled back, his neck raised, and his arms practically slammed against his sides. One hand dove inside his pants pocket and extracted his balaclava and sunglasses, while the other swiftly put them on.

"All right, let's go see what you've found." Ghost nodded to Archer, and then turned around to face Mckinley. "Love, I'll be right back. I _promise_. This is _very _important."

She was reluctant in letting him go—the fear of being alone had presented itself to her the moment Archer announced a crucial find. But the DSM was much more important than she was at the moment. And they needed Ghost downstairs to verify their discovery.

"Okay. I'll be here."

Ghost pointed at a nearby shelf in the room that Mckinley had not noticed before. "Your iPod Touch is over there, if you want it. Doc salvaged it from your blood-covered jacket and cleaned the screen up." He pulled the shades down to the tip of his nose, and his azure eyes appeared. "I'll be right back," he assured her.

With that, Archer and Ghost hastened downstairs—door shutting as they departed—leaving Mckinley by herself once again.

A few minutes passed before Mckinley decided she would go and examine her iPod. According to what Ghost said, it had gotten dirty with her own blood, and she wanted to make sure it still worked before she had a heart attack.

_My freaking iPod better work… or I'm gonna lose it._

She brought the iPod back to her place on the sleeping bag, sitting criss-cross and leaning her elbows on her knees. With the iPod in her hands, she scanned across its scraped silver-and-black body with extreme vigilance. So far, it looked fine. Her finger tapped on the power button at its top and the screen flashed on to her screensaver—much to her delight.

Eventually, Mckinley determined that it worked. Plugging her headphones into it and putting the earbuds into her ears, the autotuned beat of "I'm on a Boat" by the Lonely Island blared through as clearly as ever.

_I'm on a boat motherfucker, take a look at me!_

_Straight flowing on a boat on the deep blue sea!_

_Busting five knots, wind whipping out my coat!_

_You can't stop me motherfucker, 'cause I'm on a boat!_

The lyrics were too catchy for Mckinley to resist lip-syncing along. She entertained herself for a while with multiple songs by the Lonely Island, and then decided that she would reacquaint herself with the rest of her songs by setting her iPod to shuffle. Ghost was probably becoming engrossed in what Archer and the others had found on the DSM, so she had a while before he would come back and tell her the news.

The very first song that popped onto her iPod's screen was one that she had not listen to in years. It was from a wonderful Disney movie called _Enchanted_ that she had loved and watched constantly when it came out. The song that she had from the movie was called "So Close" by Jon McLaughlin, and Mckinley felt herself smiling at the familiar lyrics and pace the song wafted at.

_You're in my arms_

_And all the world is calm._

_The music playing on_

_For only two._

_So close together_

_And when I'm with you,_

_So close to feeling alive._

Frowning, Mckinley stopped mouthing the lyrics and, instead, focused on comprehending their oddly familiar message. Why was she suddenly so taken by what Jon McLaughlin was saying? Something about what he was saying made her stop and think.

_A life goes by__,_

_Romantic dreams must die__._

_So I bid mine goodbye_

_And never knew_

_So close was waiting__,_

_Waiting here with you__._

_And now, forever, I know_

_All that I want is to hold you_

_So close…_

The blood circulating through her veins grew torrid and searing hot as she understood what had been bothering her about the lyrics. They reminded her of the relationship she was having with Ghost… how the two of them were so close, and yet so far away from each other. He was part of her future, the future she was so anxious to enter. They were not supposed to be together until she relived the game—again. So close to having a normal relationship, and yet, they would have to wait a bit longer.

_So close to reaching_

_That famous happy ending._

_Almost believing_

_This one's not pretend._

_Now you're beside me_

_And look how far we've come!_

_So far_

_We are_

_So close..._

The singer was right; their happy ending was an arms length away. It was like a precious jewel locked away in a glass display case—they could see it, they could hold its container and admire the jewel's magnificence, but they were not allowed to hold it until they received the key. And that key was something she—in all honesty—did not want to wait for, but had to. The key was her going back to her own time. Going back and graduating high school, joining the U.S. Army Rangers, becoming recruited by the Task Force 141, living the game all over… that was the only key to her happy ending with Ghost.

_Oh, how could I face these faceless days_

_If I should lose you now?_

Ghost would have to let go of her for now, and her him. It was not their time to be in love. In their future, they would surely experience the same love again. She was extremely attracted to him, and she could tell by how he acted that he felt the same. Their relationship would have no problem forming again. It would just take some time and patience. Ghost would have to accept that.

_We're so close to reaching_

_That famous happy ending._

_Almost believing_

_This one's not pretend._

_Let's go on dreaming_

_Though we know we are_

_So close,_

_So close, and still_

_So far..._

The song slowly came to a lulling end, leaving Mckinley speechless. Before the next song began, she shut her iPod off and extracted the earbuds from her ears. Her brain was begging for a bit of serenity to pull everything together.

The song was everything about her and Ghost. It told their story from beginning to end. It also seemed to throw in references to the Task Force, how they were united, and so close to clearing their names and becoming the heroes they were destined to be.

She would have to tell them the truth. Price was absolutely right. Once she confessed everything, she could return home with a clean slate. Sure, the guys might be a little angry with her, but at least she would not have to feel so guilty about bottling it all up.

She came to the decision that when Ghost came back to tell her the news, she would request that she go downstairs to see the rest of the guys. And while she was down there, she would tell the truth.

_I was so close… and yet, so far._

Mckinley glanced down at the iPod in her hand.

_Thanks for telling me, Jon McLaughlin._

* * *

**Dunn:** So she's gonna tell them?

**ecto1B:** (nods) Yes, she has to, Dunn. It's the right thing.

**Dunn:** (frowns) And THEN she goes back to her time?

**ecto1B**: I can't tell you that, yet. That part will be coming soon.

**Dunn:** Damn, I want to know! Hang on, I've got an idea...

(In loud, booming announcer voice)

{**WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO MCKINLEY? WILL SHE RETURN TO HER TIME AND HER NORMAL LIFE? OR WILL SHE STAY WITH THE TASK FORCE? TUNE IN SOON FOR THE NEXT INSTALLMENT OF 'THE GHOST THAT HAUNTED ME!'**}

**ecto1B:** (taps foot impatiently) And then...?

**Dunn: **(sighs) Fine. {**DUNN DUNN DUNN**}


	37. Time

Chapter 38:

**"Time"**

**Day 8 – 21:01:32**

**Pfc. Mckinley 'Queen' Front**

**Task Force 141**

**Georgian-Russian Border**

The minutes still continued to drag past her, even after a good shuffle through her music. Not even The Rolling Stones or Styx could entertain her long enough before she grew antsy. Waiting for Ghost to return seemed to take longer than he'd promised, and that irritated her. Why wasn't she down there with them? Yes, she was perfectly aware of her injuries. But MacTavish had almost identical—if not more detrimental—wounds than she had. There was no objection as he hung around downstairs with the others, absorbing the good news. Had Chemo and Doc said anything to him about lying down? Probably not. This certain predicament even caused Mckinley to consider taking matters into her own hands by venturing downstairs herself, but the throbbing in her abdomen said otherwise.

For the most part, Mckinley remained immobile on her small portion of the bedroom floor, if you neglected to consider the instances when she was imitating a feeble guitar solo with her hands or mouthing the words to "Sweet Child O' Mine." She was downright bored, and her only available escape from this overwhelming boredom was her iPod and the range of music it supplied.

It just so happened that as Mckinley tried to leave her unproductive minutes in the dust with a heavy bout of AC/DC's "Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap," Ghost came to rescue her. Practically throwing the door off its hinges in the process, he staggered into the room, out of breath and with eyes wide. AC/DC was interrupted, and Mckinley sat up and screeched in response. Yet again she found her heart rate skyrocket, triggering Mckinley's train of thought to swerve back on the subject of Loose Ends. Her blood had pumped just as frantically then. This revolting sensation frightened her even more, and though she had instantly identified the intruder as Ghost, she continued to wail in alarm.

"_Holy_—"

Ghost's gloved hand secured a place over her mouth before a foul string of curses could break loose.

"Shh… love, it's jus' me." The gentleness knitted inside his tone soothed Mckinley as soon as the words met her ears. Her panicked expression, partially hidden behind his warm gray glove, relaxed. Slowly, she exited his grasp.

"You scared me," was all she felt capable of saying. Blood still pounded in her ears.

"I'm sorry 'bout that," he responded calmly. "I didn't mean to frighten you. I have good news that I wanna share with you."

Mckinley attempted to locate his blue irises behind the tinted shades on his face, but it was to no avail. She sighed.

"Good news," she echoed. "You really _did_ find something on the DSM that will clear everyone's names?"

When he nodded, she felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

_Awesome. So we eventually _do_ find a way to prove we're the good guys, and that Shepherd betrayed us. Maybe he won't be receiving a burial at Arlington, after all. In your face, Shepherd!_

Before asking her next question, Mckinley decided to take things steady. She was determined to discover everything she could about the situation before she was transported back to her time. If she knew enough, Mckinley would be fine when handling the same circumstances again. She chose to ask the simplest question there was, with not much thought added to her reasoning.

"Will… will the information let us go back home?"

Almost immediately, Mckinley recoiled in shock. She hadn't meant to do it in the slightest, but she had heard her voice distinctly, and it had come out quietly and innocently. Why was this so? Was it because adrenaline was only just reaching the outer portions of her body? Was she still frightened by the flashback of Loose Ends? Was her gentle tone caused by the mental images of Encounter Base still pinned inside her unconscious? She knew it was definitely not a voice she'd hoped to use in front of Ghost, for it made her sound infantile. But Ghost chuckled at its soft sound, seeming to relish in the childlike tone. Her naiveté amused him.

"Of course." Ghost traced a finger along the curve of her jaw. "Once we send the information to the American government, they can clear Soap and Price's names, and disregard the declaration of KIA for the rest of us."

A delicate smile came across Mckinley's face. _Perfect. Things get resolved. I'm not KIA for long, and Price and Soap aren't wanted when we go back home. A happy ending after all?_

Abruptly, Ghost stood up from his kneeling position. He offered her his hand and let his hidden gaze lock onto her. "You wanna come downstairs and see wha' we found?"

Mckinley's mouth contorted into a sarcastic smirk. Playfulness coiled beneath the flare of her lips.

"No… I'm _totally _fine up here by myself."

It took Ghost a moment to respond. His head tilted to the side a bit, displaying his utter confusion, confusion that mildly astonished Mckinley. "Are…are you sure?" he asked.

The playfulness on her face disintegrated. "Seriously, Simon? Seriously?"

"What, you were jokin'?"

"Yes." Steadily, Mckinley took Ghost's hand and hauled herself up from the floor. Shooting pain honed in on her once again, but she fought past it. "I was joking. Now can we get downstairs so I can see all the amazing crap you found while I was up here by myself?"

"It's all of Shepherd's records. Apparently he kept every transcript of his dialogue with Makarov, and also with other members of the Ultranationalist party." Archer tapped his fingertips on the screen of the computer to indicate portions of the decoded information. "I read a bit into them." He paused to look back at MacTavish. "You were right, sir. He was the one who told Makarov Joseph Allen's identity." At the mention of the Joseph, Mckinley cringed and curled tighter against Ghost's body, which was supporting her as the team stood around the computer.

"Does it say anything about where the Moscow massacre came from?" Price inquired. He stood to the left of Mckinley and Ghost with his arms crossed across his chest. "Was it Shepherd or Makarov who came up with the idea?"

A congregation of murmurs traveled throughout the group.

"The text isn't too clear about it." Archer designated another section of the screen. "To me, it seems like they both were in agreement from the beginning. But Shepherd, in his words, supplies much of the concept. Makarov just fills in the blanks."

"So Shepherd comes up with the idea, Makarov likes it and agrees to follow through with it," Rocket summarized briefly.

"Shepherd supplies the American and instructs Makarov to leave the massacre at Allen's feet," Taco added.

The discussion was becoming extremely heated. Mckinley suddenly had the urge to speak, but she didn't exactly know how to intervene at such a moment. Was now the right time for her big confession? When they were thrashing about such an intense matter? Price had virtually pleaded with her to get it over with, and now that she was downstairs with them…

"Guys?" she tried, softly at first.

"This causes all of Russia to go to war with the U.S., leaving Makarov time to build up his followers and retake the country." Doc let his stern face break a bit to let in a shudder. He apparently didn't hear Mckinley, so she attempted again.

"Guys?"

"Don't forget that it also gives Shepherd a blank check when he promises he'll do everything in his power to kill Makarov," Toad reminded them.

"And when he realizes that the Task Force he's in command of has pinpointed the location of Makarov's safehouse where all of his information is stored, he comes up with a plan to frame them, and this action succeeds and makes him a war hero," MacTavish said with an icy tone.

"Guys?"

Mckinley was growing impatient. Not even Ghost, who was holding her, seemed to hear her voice above the others.

_What am I, invisible? Come on, now. So I'm injured. So I'm a chick. So I'm a freaking redhead. They need to quit their yap and listen to me!_

"And with him now dead, he gets a burial at Arlington," Archer concluded, fuming. "The bloody _arsehole_ gets one of the highest honors in the military, even when he caused the massacre, framed us, pulled a gun on Queen and Ghost, beat up Price, and stabbed 'Tavish!"

"_Guys!_"

Everyone looked at Mckinley at the same time.

"_What?_"

Before she could restrain herself from letting the words pour out her mouth, they came surging from the binds she had constructed, formed plainly and in the only way she knew how.

"I'm seventeen."


	38. Announcement

**Hello, everyone!**

* * *

First off, I apologize that this is not an 'update,' per say. However, the news I am about to share with you is quite relative to "The Ghost That Haunted Me," so I suggest you continue reading.

Second, I want to also apologize for neglecting to update this story in a while. I went on to pursue other fandoms (the Beatles, Transformers, etc.) and never returned to Call of Duty.

Having said that, I am planning to return to this story and finish it, then move on to write the sequel.

But I need your help.

See, in all honesty, I'm not a very good writer. Only recently did I read over this entire story, and only then did I pick up on plot holes, misspellings, grammatical errors, and very bare paragraphs. I'm ashamed that this disarray of a story is still posted here, collecting dust and flames.

So that's why I need your help. The small following I have received because of this story is made up of extremely creative, intelligent people, people who write well, who know what they are doing, and who love Call of Duty. And if I were to take the critique of these folks into consideration, fix the minor errors they pinpointed, "The Ghost That Haunted Me" could become spectacular.

I'll make you an offer. If you all pull out your red pens and assist me in fixing this crazy jumble, I'll finish TGTHM. _And_ I'll even throw in a sequel to sweeten the deal.

It doesn't have to be many edits. One or two is fine. You could be rereading a certain chapter and pick up on a misused word. That would help. All I'm asking is that you teach me how to become a better writer. You give me advice on how to create a perfect character, how to avoid Mary-Sue characteristics, how to make sentences flow, and I'll take everything into consideration and fix it all up. Even some knowledge on the military, on how ranks work, anything would help me.

I've been a real bitch in the past, I know. My writing made me stuck-up. I don't want that to be the way you see me. I want to improve. I want to make this story great. With your help, I think I can do that.

If you find any errors, or have anything to say to me, please PM me, instead of leaving a review with only edits for me to make. I would really appreciate that. That way, if I receive any flames because of this post, no one but me can accept the attack.

I love you all to death, and if you really are taking the time to read this, then you also deserve my thanks. Thank you. All of you.

Peace,

_**ecto1B**_


	39. Announcement Take 2

**(Scratch the last 'Announcement' chapter. This is the more current one!)**

_April 6th, 2012_

Readers, viewers, COD fans, etc.,

First off, sorry that this is being posted as another chapter, when it's not... I had to communicate somehow!

Anyway, **hello**! You're probably wondering what this is (or, maybe, you're not. It all depends!).

I just wanted to let everyone know that the official revamp of this story has **begun**. Yes, it has begun! I had to start with a completely new story (well, I didn't just HAVE to, I wanted to. I needed a clean slate), but the revamp IS in motion! As of this moment, the first chapter has been posted, with the second one just about finished!

_You can find the new story on my profile right now!_

It's a rather large jump from this original story, but I can assure you, it will be 100x better, and much more enjoyable. How do I know this? Well, it's been about two years since I started writing this story, and since then, I have matured, I have taken multiple writing and English courses, and I've gained a great bunch of friends who are wonderful betas. They won't LET me post anything unworthy of being seen.

I've done a great deal of studying, as well. I've actually covered a bulletin board of pictures, notes, timelines, names, etc. from the Call of Duty: Modern Warfare series. I am striving to be as ACCURATE as possible with names and dates and such. No worries!

Well, that just about wraps it up! Any questions, just drop me a line, either here, or on deviantART (my account name is SouthernImagineer).

And again, thanks for the support! Love you all!

- SouthernImagineer/ecto1B


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